The World Beyond
by Yva J
Summary: After Gordon Waters' death, his daughter, Jeanette, delivers a letter to Willy Wonka that changes both of their lives.
1. Prologue: A Father's Request

_Author's Note: This is a new multi-chapter CatCF story. I have decided that since no one really gave me any suggestions to this story that I would just write what I felt like and present it. This story has been written to completion and I will be parallel posting it with my other in progress story, 'In Another's Eyes'. It is not your typical 'boy meets girl', 'girl hates boy but eventually falls in love with boy' concept. This story idea actually has some layers to it._

_Since there are so many romance stories already out there, I don't really want to write 'just another one'. I love this idea, and call it my __**'King Thrush Beard' meets 'Willy Wonka'**__ concept. I am hopeful that I manage to keep Willy Wonka in character. There are parts in the latter chapters where I do wonder if I am pushing an envelope, but I am no less a fan for writing this than some of the things I have read with our favorite chocolatier. It is my attempt at trying to write an original Willy Wonka romance with a high dosage of hurt/comfort and drama applied. I really don't want to repeat something that has already been tried, but based on what my reviews have indicated, this is a new idea._

_This is more or less a Wilder Wonka fiction, but if you prefer the Depp Wonka, then you can read it in that way too. Just excuse any references that I may have made regarding his hair or eye color. He will be more or less characterized by the Wilder Wonka characterization, but hopefully it will still be enjoyable to you Johnny Depp fans out there as well._

_With that said…enjoy._

_Edited April 6, 2008._

* * *

**The World Beyond**

By: Yva J.

**Prologue: A Father's Request**

Jeanette Waters was twenty-four when her father died, thus leaving her all alone in the world. Throughout her life, she had not necessarily viewed herself as being a loner, but yet that was precisely what she was.

Today, looking around the graveyard where mourners stood, something inside of her told her that she was now lonely, a trait, which she had adamantly denied. Her father had been her last living relative, his death leaving her with no family to speak of.

It was hard for a young woman to look out at the world knowing that she was alone, but this had somehow become her unwritten destiny.

She would have no choice but to return to the flat after the funeral, the place pretty much empty. No one had come to offer her their condolences, because she had grown from adolescence into adulthood with no real friends or contacts.

In fact, she soon realized that the longer she had been standing in the dank graveyard, the more out of place she felt. All the mourners had been strangers to her, many of whom were colleagues of her father when he had worked at Wonka Industries several years before getting fired. She knew that her father had maintained a number of his friendships upon his job ending, but these had mysteriously ended soon after he had taken ill.

Jeanette's father had sustained an open and positive outlook on life, contrary to his daughter's utter heartbreak. She had taken a job, and worked, sometimes as much as twelve hours a day in order to keep their rent paid. The difference between her father and she was that she blamed Willy Wonka for their misfortune, while her father had always insisted that it was the spies who had destroyed their livelihood. Jeanette could not comprehend how one man's trust in the world seemed to have overlapped her own fate.

This had been the only point of contention between her and her father, and yet, she always felt as though Gordon had understood Wonka far better than he had emphasized with his only daughter. It was, after all, she who had to give up her life to support her unemployed father. It was she who had to start working in a place she detested because one man had lost his faith in society. She was beyond hurt by Willy Wonka's actions; she completely detested the man.

The flat was empty upon her arrival; the overall essence of the place did not seem to offer her very much comfort. It was probably that which decided for her that she would leave and go to the local deli to try and force herself to sit down and actually have something for dinner. There was no point to her cooking, as there was very little, besides soup, in the cupboards. She had not eaten anything substantial since her father had gotten sick, and soup had been all that he had managed to keep down. So instead of torturing them both by making elaborate dinners, she kept the place stocked full of chicken broths and various brands of saltine crackers.

I have to go to the market one of these days, she thought as she went over to the table and dropped her purse in one of the chairs. Of course, the motivation was sorely lacking. She had no desire to go shopping, and she most certainly did not want to cook. If truth were known, she had no desire to do much of anything.

She took a deep breath, but found her attention shifting to the spot in the center of the table where a white piece of paper stuck out from beneath the saltshaker. She reached over and retrieved it, only to notice an envelope resting under it. It was sealed and the addressee's name was scrawled across it in her father's uneven script. She looked down at the name thinking that perhaps it had been addressed to her.

What she saw however, made her swallow, the lump that lodged itself in the back of her throat sliding down until it landed in the pit of her stomach. 'Mr. Wonka', was written on the envelope. Shifting her focus, she looked down at the letter that was supposedly intended for her.

She unfolded the piece of paper and began to read, her father's last words somehow breaking into her thoughts and filling her with a new sense of grief.

* * *

_My dearest Jeanette, _

_I want you to know that during the time that you have taken care of me, I have been feeling monumentally grateful to you. You have made these last few months the greatest blessing of my life. In knowing this, I fear I must make a request of you that may seem rather out of the ordinary._

_I know that you do not like my former employer very much. You feel as though he has robbed you of the life you could have had as a normal teenager. Perhaps he has done just that, and you viewed me as blind and ignorant of the man's true impact. I cannot say with certainty what had transpired, as I had other issues that needed tending. I was never ignorant to your plight, my dearest child. The truth is, I never expected you to make the sacrifices you did because of me, but I spent these last days feeling deeply blessed by your selflessness._

_I understood that in writing to Mr. Wonka, that forcing this request upon you is going to be rather difficult for you to contend with. However, I must ask that you please deliver the letter to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory as soon as possible. At the front gate to the factory, there is a slot to the left of the gate where you can drop off the letter. You will not even have to see him, as I am certain that you wish for that anyway. I do not know if Mr. Wonka will ever read or react to my words, but I do know that I must write to him, as that is part of the closure I must make before I die…_

* * *

She stopped reading, the letter slipping between her fingers and falling onto the table. The tears she had fought against at the cemetery now slid from beneath her eyes and streamed down over her face. "Oh Papa, how can you make this kind of request of me?" she whispered to the stillness of the room. "I have every right in the world to hate him. I had to drop out of school because of him, I had to go to work in a place I detested because he was so selfish…" Her words drifted off and she looked at the envelope and shook her head.

Instead of speaking further, she seated herself at the table and allowed herself to cry. The envelope, she pushed away.

After several minutes had passed, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her dress. Casting a glance towards the window, she noticed that the rain had not ceased. She got to her feet and walked with weighted steps into the kitchen in order to retrieve a small, plastic sandwich bag.

Returning to the table, she tucked the letter inside the bag and using one of the twister ties, she bunched it together, thus closing it.

Her appetite was now gone, so instead of leaving with the intention of going to the deli, she decided to fulfill her father's request. She slowly walked over to the clothes rack, grabbed a jacket, and pulled it over her black colored dress. She tucked the bagged letter into the front pocket of her jacket and then opened the door.

Stepping out into the darkened corridor, she closed and locked the door behind her. Next, she walked the length of the dark hallway towards the stairwell that was situated at the end of the corridor.

Once she had descended the staircase, she reached the front door to the building, pulled it open, and stepped outside.

The rain was coming down in a light drizzle by this time, the sky overhead now a dark and murky gray color. The streetlamps overhead seemed to be lighting up at that moment, the yellowness of their illumination mixed with the grayness of the sky. This gave off the impression that she was walking through a Victorian-aged painting. The only thing that made her realize that she was not in the past were the cars that drove along the street, their tires skimming over the wetness of the cement, thus leaving a strange sound in their wake.

Jeanette closed her eyes as she made her way further down the street and away from her flat. Opening her eyes once again, she found herself staring down at the pocket that held her father's letter. She continued to walk, hoping that with each step that she would be able to do as her father had asked without changing her mind and returning to her empty home. She shifted her gaze, her eyes staring down at the wet sidewalk and the soles of her shoes clomping against it as she walked.

In the back of her mind, she was curious as to what her father wanted to tell the chocolatier, but somehow respecting his wishes, she did not rip into the letter. It was, after all, something she did without question. Since she was strongly embedded in her own private thoughts and feelings, she knew of the pain of someone else discovering what lurked beneath her outer shell. For that reason, the letter she carried, remained unopened and unread.

After about ten minutes of walking, she found herself standing in front of the chocolate factory. The large smokestacks seemed to hover overhead and the substance that rose from them had somehow meshed against the clouds that hung over the city.

It was strange that the day that her father's funeral had happened was the exact same day that Willy Wonka's news about the Golden Tickets had appeared in the paper. It seemed as though the man just had to be the center of attention, she thought sadly. She took a deep breath, her hands wrapping around one of the iron bars that separated Willy Wonka from the rest of the world.

Inhaling sharply, she continued to stare up at the factory, her heartbeat now matching the rhythm of the falling rain, and the tears still falling from her eyes. Nothing else mattered, her face was streaked with a mixture of rain and tears, but no one seemed to care. She raised her head, but at the same instant bit down on her lip as she cast a weary glance down at her clothing.

Normally, she did not wear black, in fact, the color alone seemed to wash her out, somehow making her features appear as white as that of a ghost. Closing her eyes, her thoughts began to drift. It must be like another world inside, she thought. Of course, at the same instant, she began to think about how people like Willy Wonka probably did not know what it meant to be sad, or to grieve the loss that one holds dear.

Jeanette could now feel the angry tears as they caught beneath her eyes. Her father Gordon had been one of the many workers cast aside when the factory had been closed. She remembered it all too well. She had just turned eighteen when her father came home and told her that he had been released from his contract at work. It took her hours to get him to simply admit that his eccentric employer had cast everyone out and closed the factory. Today, the chocolatier was as great a mystery to her as was the factory itself.

She pulled her jacket even tighter against her skin, the dampness of the London air causing her to shiver somewhat. Instead of paying it too much mind, she pulled the envelope from the pocket of her jacket, and started to look around the area in search of the mailbox that her father had told her about in his letter. She stared at the object for several minutes before walking towards the drop box where the factory's mail was posted.

"The box is just to the left of the gate," her father had written in his letter.

It was strange that contrary to their differing beliefs about Willy Wonka, the two of them had spoken of the candy maker quite often since Gordon had taken ill.

"What does Willy Wonka care?" Jeanette had often argued, her voice filled with contempt. "He fired you, Papa, he fired everyone. How can you defend a man such as this?"

"He is not the terrible creature that you make him out to be, Jeannie," her father had responded. He had often called her that as a sort of pet name. He was actually the only person that she ever allowed to use in addressing her. To everyone else, she was Jeanette, or Jen. "You know that I taught you to always give others the benefit of the doubt, and that includes people like Willy Wonka."

"But, Papa, I can't," she had responded, her voice often breaking as she contemplated the state of her own existence. She had always felt that somehow her heart was empty whenever this conversation had started.

Of course her father could not see what it had all meant. When he lost his job, there were no others available. It was for this reason that she had been forced to quit school, and start working in the local laundry house. The hours had been long and hard, but she had somehow managed to at least help them make ends meet. Of course, they were not as poor as other people, but they were poor enough.

"There is a reason," Gordon had said. "Believe me Jeannie, there is always a reason."

Today, Jeanette stared down at the letter. She held it by the section of bunched up plastic. She could see the small slot exactly where her father had indicated. "Oh Papa, you were far too much of an idealist. Willy Wonka is not going to care, why should he?"

Not waiting for an answer, she merely lifted the cover to the mailbox and dropped the letter down into the slot. Closing it, she backed up, all the while not knowing that she was being watched from inside the confines of the factory. It was clear that the person inside could see every move that she made.

Instead of remaining where she was, Jeanette backed slowly away from the factory gates, her eyes now blurred by tears. "Now, I did what you asked of me," she whispered against the heavier falling rain and the wind that whipped about her face. "Now, I'm going home and I don't care if you are disappointed in me, Papa, but I will never darken this man's doorstep again."

Having made that promise to herself, Jeanette turned away and began to slowly walk back in the direction of her small one-room flat. As she walked, she had no idea that her life was about to take a dramatic turn for the better.


	2. Chapter 1:  The Letter

_Many thanks to my reviewers. It adds so much motivation._

_Edited April 6, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Letter**

From within the confines of the factory, Willy Wonka stood. The chocolatier had been watching the movement at the front gate of the factory for some time. The Oompa Loompas had provided him with a small device that would enable him to get a closer look at those who sometimes stood for a prolonged period of time at the front of his property. From his vantage point, he could easily make out that the current visitor was a young woman. She looked to be short and a bit on the thin side.

She had stood there for several minutes, an object in her hand. It shimmered, even when the rain continued to fall, but it was easy to make it out since the person holding it was dressed completely in black. Even with the Oompa Loompas' device, he could not see her face, because her head was lowered and it looked as though a black translucent veil hung over it.

The shadows that cast around her left the chocolatier feeling very sad.

He had, of course, seen this similar depiction in movies and even on the news, but he had never been chilled to the bone by the appearance of a woman at his gates as he was at that instant. She truly seemed to be a direct depiction of someone who was grieving or experiencing some sort of loss.

Through this small object provided him, he could not help but notice that she had dropped something into the mail slot, perhaps the glistening object that he had seen in her hand. What was it? He pondered, and why did it seem to be so important?

He made his way further down the corridor and passed through a door that would lead him towards the outside courtyard of the factory grounds. Abruptly, he stopped, all the while not certain if he really wanted to venture outside and run the risk of being seen by a curious paparazzi or a nosy reporter. There had to be some way in which to leave the factory and then return without being detected.

There was no question left in his mind. His curiosity was piqued, and he wanted nothing more than to find out who the woman was, and what her intentions were for putting something in his mailbox.

After several minutes, he broke into a broad grin and went down the hall in the direction of his office. Once he had reached the door and come inside, he walked over to the wardrobe, and pulled out a flowing black colored cloak. He pulled it over his clothing and nodded as he beheld the reflection in the mirror. He could slip out and then back inside without being detected. The gray and dismal evening had provided him with just the right atmosphere.

Removing his top hat, he took the hood of the cloak and covered his head with it. No one could make out much of anything on such a rainy evening, no one would be able to distinguish him as being a world famous chocolatier. The disguise would no doubt hold up for the time he needed in which to retrieve the letter.

He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway. As luck would have, the Oompa Loompas had retired for the evening and he was, for practical purposes, alone.

The lights in the corridor were starting to dim somewhat, their illuminating effects timed to perfection, just as his candy was.

He reached the outer door, and slipped outside and could feel that the London air was particularly chilly that night. It was the same sort of night that would make the Oompa Loompas shiver to the bone. Unconsciously, he pulled the cloak even tighter as he reached the mailbox. Fishing a small key from his pocket, he unlocked it.

Reaching inside, he pulled out a small plastic bag. With this object, he could see the whiteness of the envelope. He picked it up and tucked it inside the pocket of his cloak before locking the post box and retreating to the safe confines of the factory.

Once he had returned inside, he pulled the damp, plastic bag from the pocket of his cloak and stared down at it. He could make out the writing on the cover, although his name was not very neatly written. The script itself looked cramped and strained.

He retreated to his office and closed himself in. As though propelled by instinct alone, he went over to his desk and sat down. Carefully, he separated the envelope from the plastic, opened the letter, and pulled out two handwritten pages.

His eyes stared down at the paper as he began to read.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Wonka,_

_By the time you receive this letter, I will be dead and gone, my ashes no doubt sitting in an urn somewhere collecting dust or buried beneath the earth. I leave this world with no regrets, except perhaps one and that is the welfare and well being of my only child, Jeanette. I know that when I die, as indeed I must, then I will be leaving her twice orphaned and alone. She has no brothers and sisters, and no relatives to speak of. We spent our lives together alone, she depending on me and I have lived out my days depending on her._

_I speak of her because I must confide in you something that leaves my heart in a great state of uneasiness. I understand that to you I am but a stranger, a face in the crowd, if you will. However, I must ask this of you, as you are the last family that my child has left. It is not a relation of family by blood you understand, but rather it is a relation that is borne out of the utmost loyalty. I have spent many years remembering how loyal I was to you and your work, but I have also been loyal to my child._

_You see, Sir, I worked for twelve years for you, my job was not always the most sought after, or the most fun, but it was a job that gave us a roof over our heads and food on the table. When that job was lost, my daughter was eighteen and took it upon herself to drop out of school and obtain a job that would continue to support both of us._

_I was not ashamed of the fact that I was your janitor. I spent my days cleaning the employees waste cans or having to take roll after roll of toilet paper to the various stations around the factory. I quite enjoyed the opportunity to explore the unknown corridors and take in the color and brightness that I saw each and every day while employed there. Although some might have been humiliated to undertake such a position, it was an honor for me to have a job to come to each day._

_Having been looked down upon by many of my fellow-employees, I soon realized that it did not matter what they all said. What mattered to me was that you were pleased with the work I had done._

_You were a good employer, and an honest man. Whatever it was that happened to you with those spies was undeserved, and I have never blamed you for doing what it is you had to do. My daughter is sadly, the sacrifice that was made in the wake of it. I always knew that this was a part of life's experiences, although I was fully knowledgeable of how trying and difficult for all of us this was._

_Mr. Wonka, please forgive me for writing to you this day, and in this way. But you see, Sir, on the date that I wrote this letter, I was told that I am dying, that I have very little time left, and it is a very difficult task that I must ask you to undertake._

_I mentioned earlier on that my daughter, Jeanette, is alone. She has sacrificed so dreadfully much for me, taking care of me when I could not look after myself. I loathe what I have become, and it is my wish that she finds a just reward for all the good deeds and sacrifices that she has made._

_Please, I ask you to consider making contact with her, but speak of nothing that I have written here. I beg you to understand that she knows nothing of the contents or concerns contained in this message, and she would never have delivered it had she been aware of what I have written. I know my daughter, you see, and she has many traits, one of which is unwavering pride._

_I know that you are a very busy man, and that you may or may not accept the words of this letter as truth, but please consider that what you do with this will leave a lasting impact on the one person I wish only to make happy…my daughter. If you decide to seek her out, she works at Lindor's Laundry shop on Haywood Place. It is a rather run down establishment, but she is the only lady that I know of who is presently employed there._

_I thank you for your time, and it was always a deep and abiding pleasure working for you._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Gordon Waters_

* * *

Willy lowered the two pieces of paper and took a deep and staggering breath. He had no idea what to think. Now that the Golden Ticket contest had started, he knew that even trying to make contact with this girl seemed more or less impossible. Yet, there was something quite intriguing about the prospect of contacting her and finding out just how much of what he had been reading had actually been the truth.

He brushed his hands carefully over the paper and shook his head. What some people won't do, a bitter thought suddenly filled his mind. How could she not know? It was obvious that she was no doubt the cloaked figure that had delivered those two handwritten pages. Closing his eyes, he stared down at the letter. Jeanette probably knew everything about the letter, he thought, perhaps she had even composed it herself. After studying the penmanship closer, he eventually shook his head.

Although she might very well have known about it, the writing could not have been her own, it was scrawled across the page in such a fashion that indicated it being cramped with age. Along the border, one could see the smudges of ink that covered it, thus giving way that the person was using something like a fountain pen in order to compose it. The smudges of ink looked as though someone had rested the side of their hand against it in a fit of exhaustion.

No, Gordon Waters must have written this letter personally. The chocolatier returned the letter to the envelope.

Next, he began to scavenge his way through the papers that were lining his desk. He eventually picked up the local paper. The headline that graced the top spoke of the Golden Tickets, but ignoring that bit, he began to tear his way though the paper, the various articles ignored as he reached the section that he intended to have a look at.

He took a deep breath as he read through the list of names. Eventually, he found a small blurb about the size of a small classified ad with the name Gordon Waters affixed.

The blurb read:

'_Into thy hands oh Heavenly Father,_

_we commend the spirit of Gordon Waters._

_He leaves this Earth, released from the bonds of illness,_

_but the ties to his beloved daughter Jeanette_

_Remain untouched forever.'_

Willy took a deep breath upon reading this. "Gordon Waters," he mumbled the name.

Instead of getting caught up in emotional fancies, the chocolatier replaced the paper, got to his feet, and slowly left the office. He made his way down the hall in the direction of the file room, which kept all the information about all the people who had once worked for him.

The letter had said that Gordon had been the janitor, but with so many employees, he simply could not remember all the names or faces of the people who had once worked there. As luck would have, there was a photograph of each person affixed to the file.

He had long ago thought of discarding the information, but never could bring himself to doing so. The files had remained untouched in the room, their secrets holed away from the light of day.


	3. Chapter 2: Willy Wonka's Discovery

_I am removing the hiatus status on this story, the next chapter will be posted once these three updates are put into place._

_Thank you for reading and this story will be posted through to completion. Hope you will enjoy the forthcoming chapters._

* * *

**Chapter 2: Willy Wonka's Discovery**

As he entered the room, Willy turned on the light, but purposefully left the door ajar. It had been a long time since he had been to this room, in fact, with so many rooms at the factory, it came as no surprise that he had momentarily forgotten that it was even there. The white tiled floor and the white walls with gray colored filing drawers made the place look as though it was a records room at a hospital as opposed to being what it was…a filing room for the world's largest chocolate factory.

Inhaling, he could smell the strange mixture of dust and damp air. It was no secret that the windowless room had probably not been opened up since he had closed the factory. I will have to do something about this, he thought with a grimace. The overall essence of the room was, to say the least, rather creepy.

Perhaps this room served as a reminder to Willy Wonka of the things he had done in the past. Although, he was glad about what he had done for the Oompa Loompas, the presence of this room cast a shadow of guilt over the chocolatier's head. Not all these people had been spies, and yet, even the good ones had been treated as though they were. Perhaps it had not been the best decision I could have made, he thought, but what is done, is done.

He remembered the day that he had closed the factory and disappeared from sight. It was odd that he would take such amusement in the press' behavior during the following years after his self-imposed seclusion. They had actually started a column called 'Wonka Sightings', which were exactly as described. Reporters and photographers were actually roaming around the streets of London searching for possible signs of him. Through their 'so called' sightings, they would concoct stories as to how often he had left the sanctuary of the factory and by what means he had managed it.

These sighting ideas seemed to be rather interesting for their readership until the Golden Ticket craze had started, thus rendering the entire idea passé.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped further into the recesses of the room. What an uninviting place, even with the lights turned on. The place seemed to emanate an eerie, almost unsettling essence about it. The chocolatier cringed, but brushed his hand over his arm, the chilliness of the air literally cursing through him. He ventured further still.

On one side of the room was a long desk with chairs lining it. He went over and pulled one out and slid it over to the opposite wall where the filing cabinets extended along it. It was at that moment when he noticed another corner where a broom and dustpan sat. The years of neglect showed, as cobwebs hung from the lifeless objects. On the top of the cabinets, a film of dust blanketed them.

He took a deep breath, but coughed slightly as he felt the dusty air that tickled the back of his throat. He stared for several minutes at the cabinets, all the while not really certain if he really wanted to open any of them at all. What would he discover?

Having received and read through the letter from Gordon Waters, it seemed almost a given that he was being haunted by the ghost of that particular worker. He would have to swallow any fear he might have and try to ignore the essences of all his former employees who seemed to still be lurking throughout the crevices of this very room.

He swallowed nervously as he walked over to the groups of filing cabinets and reached out in order to grasp the handle of the one that was in the middle of the final group of filing drawers. On the front of it, he could see that the notation read in faded typeface: 'Wa-We'. Carefully, he pulled it open and stared down at the vast number of files that lined the drawer.

His eyes were now burning from prolonged exposure to dust, but he began to thumb his way through the files until he found the one that was marked with the name 'Waters, G.'. He pulled the beige colored file from the cabinet and shoved the door closed, the loud clang of it filling the silence of the room. Instead of leaving immediately, he pulled the chair back over to the table and seated himself there. Carefully, he leaned over and opened the file.

Gordon's employment application was at the top. The resume was directly beneath it, and that captured the chocolatier's attention as he ran his hand over the thin stack of paper inside the file. As he flipped through the pages, the musty smell of old papers filled his nostrils.

He stopped after several moments, his gaze on the small snapshot of Gordon that was placed at the top right hand corner of his resume. Next to the picture, Willy began to read the information.

**Name: Gordon Wilhelm Waters  
Address: Hudson Way 23, London.  
Date of Birth: February 1…**

He stopped reading, his gaze staring down at the year of Gordon's birth, "he wasn't really all that old," he whispered, "according to this, he was in his early fifties when he died."

He continued reading the various points in the man's resume. He was taking in just about every aspect of the man's history, right down the fact that he had a daughter, Jeanette, who was born on October 2. To the chocolatier, soaking up all this information was rather like reading the biography of an old friend.

Of course, the more he read, the more aware he became that there were many things that he did not know about Gordon's experiences. His resume said that he had been a widower, but there were no specifics about his wife and what had happened to her. Under 'education', it said that although he had finished secondary school, he had somehow graduated unable to read or write. Just before starting to work for him, Gordon had found the incentive to go to take an adult reading course at the community college. This probably explained the shaky manner in which the man had filled out the application to work there.

Under employment history, he read jobs like 'Maintenance Man', 'Janitor' and, 'Garbage Collector' as previous job listings. He sighed as he remembered having met Gordon briefly on one occasion. He had been such a nice person, warm and accommodating, but at the same instant, it was clear that the man had been faced with his own sets of challenges.

"What a dismal situation, cleaning up after everyone else," the candy maker muttered, but flipped the page over and took in the golden-rod colored page that was directly underneath it. The words on the form read: _Employee Evaluation Form_. Beneath the name and address, he began to read about what Gordon's immediate supervisor had to say about his skills as a worker, as well as his enthusiasm for the job he had done.

At the very bottom of the page, he read the words: 'Although Mr. Waters works very hard, his on the job performance indicates that he is very slow, and often prone to error.'

"How many mistakes can a man make scrubbing a toilet?" Willy asked the stillness, but returned his focus to the form he was reading through.

'His supervisor, Mr. Theodore M. Collins, recommends that his employment be immediately terminated.' Willy turned the page over and looked at the back, where his signature would have been required in order for them to follow through with said recommendation. His signature was not present. In fact, the recommendation had never even reached his desk. "I would have remembered if it had," he muttered under his breath as he raised the page and stared down at the medical condition form that was just below the evaluation. "This would explain perhaps why it is that Mr. Collins did not pursue this," he said as he began to read.

'Mr. Waters suffers from acute muscle spasms in his arms. His physical condition, although not serious, has called upon his doctor to put in a recommendation that says he be given some leeway and time to perform his tasks.' The form was dated March 20, and the year was almost seven years to the day after he began working for him.

He raised the page and stared at the final piece of paper. "A medical release form?" He mumbled as he began to read, all the while shaking his head as he looked down at the dates that were listed when Gordon Waters was instructed to cease any strenuous labor and be allowed compensation benefits.

Willy's mouth fell open when he read the date as to when this form was to go into affect. He signed it, one day prior to his having closed the factory. That meant that under law, Willy had been responsible for paying the benefits to Gordon Waters, and he had not paid so much as a cent. He shook his head in profound disbelief, his gaze still on the form.

"No wonder," he whispered as he closed the file, all the while feeling sick to his stomach. "I was supposed to help him, but I didn't and now he's dead. His daughter had to make the sacrifices because I didn't."

Guilt washed over him like a cool spring rain shower. The pain that he carried in his heart was just too much. Here I had sat thinking that Jeanette had been trying to play some cruel game with me, but it was me who had been playing games with this family. He owed Gordon Waters a great deal, it would seem, and now because this caring man was no longer with them, he vowed to give something back to his daughter. He only hoped that it would not be too late.

According to Gordon's letter, Jeanette had sacrificed a great deal for her father, giving up school and going to work. Now, Willy knew that this girl did not deserve what she got. He had to do what he could to rectify things with her. It would not be easy, especially now, in the wake of the contest that was going on.

Numbly, he got to his feet and with the file still tucked under his arms; he slowly walked out of the file room, the light he switched off, and the door he closed firmly behind him.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the hall in the direction of his office. Once he reached it, he slowly walked inside, retrieved the letter as well as the newspaper and then left for his private quarters.

His pace was slower than usual, but after some time, he reached the door that would lead into his room. He took a deep breath and shuddered. "All of this for watching someone out the window," he muttered, but closed the door before walking over to his bed and sitting down on the edge of it. I have to do something, he thought. Perhaps I should compose a letter to her explaining, he thought.

No, he shook his head. It would have to be contact, direct contact.

He casually tossed the three items across the bed and glanced down at his disheveled appearance. He had definitely seen better days.

Swallowing, he got back on his feet and rubbed his hands brusquely together as he walked over to his closets and opened one of the doors. Inside the closet he had his eccentric suits, ties, and waistcoats. His various top hats lined the top shelf, each on resting on a hat stand, the colors ranging from brownish caramel to black. Each of the hats had been specially ordered from the top London hat designer. They had all been done in a similar style, especially for him.

His attention shifted and he began to dig through his closet as though a teenager looking for an outfit for a date. He did not have many 'normal' looking clothes, in fact, he spent a good thirty minutes simply digging through the closet trying to find something that would not make him stand out like a sore thumb.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a pair of old faded jeans and a simple off white colored shirt. It was generally not something that the chocolatier would wear. Not even the Oompa Loompas had ever seen him in this sort of outfit. At the same instance, he stared down at it in fascination as an idea formulated in his mind.

It was not everyday that Willy Wonka had great ideas that were not centered on candy, but this time, he actually had an idea that might rectify everything. Sure, it was a bit risky, as it meant him leaving the chocolate factory amidst all the insanity that was going on as well as approaching Jeanette and lying to her about who he was. After all, what would she think if he went up to her and introduced himself as Willy Wonka?

He laid the clothing on the bed before returning to the closet and pulling a small shoebox from beneath the boxes and cartons. He smiled as he opened it and retrieved what looked to be a small laminated identification card. Across the front, he could see his likeness on the left side. On the other, his given name was printed as well as the address to his old flat on Cherry Street. He smiled as he stared down at the name that graced the card. "William W. Thompson." It had been his mother's maiden name, which he had legally changed when he had been emancipated at fifteen. Of course, he never had his name legally changed back to Wonka; instead, he decided to use the name as an artist's name. That is, he could legally use the name for anything business related that he wanted. After all, it had been proven that he could sell Wonka bars, but the thought never crossed his mind to try and sell Thompson bars.

He inhaled slowly as he returned to the bed and tossed the box across it. "I have to do this. Perhaps the media will not find out about it," he muttered as he stared down at the pile of papers that lined his bed. "I could make contact with her in this way, she doesn't have to know who I am immediately. I can find out what it is she is doing and maybe help her along," he muttered to himself, but removed the cloak and beheld his reflection in the mirror. His hair was ruffled and it made the chocolatier look all the more eccentric.

As luck would have, a man with curly hair was normal during this day and age, he thought. Perhaps I could find a way to make it a bit less psychotic looking, he thought as he tried to brush it down.

This proved unsuccessful, as his hair seemed to take on a life of its own. "The Oompa Loompas might have to help me with this," he mumbled as he returned to the bed and reread Gordon's letter.

Perhaps in death, he had managed to open my eyes to something that had been overlooked in life; Willy thought as he shoved the pile of papers to one side and without changing into his pajamas, he collapsed against the pillows.

Sleep, sadly, did not come too quickly for him.


	4. Chapter 3: Jeanette's Family

_Here's the newest update to the chapter…please read and review. As I said, the story is completed, so this will help with how quickly I add updates. Thanks._

_Edited April 7, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 3: Jeanette's Family**

The passing rain shower seemed to have dissipated during the night. When Jeanette opened her eyes, it was morning and the telephone was ringing off the hook. She rolled over and looked at the clock. It read 9:47, thus indicating that contrary to the events that had taken place the day before, she was now late for work.

She scrambled her way out of bed and snatched up the telephone. "Hello?" She spoke into it, her voice sounding rather squeaky and high pitched.

"Why the hell aren't you here yet?" A man's voice shouted over the line, nearly bursting her eardrums. "Wasn't it enough that I gave you yesterday off?"

Jeanette took a deep breath. "My father is dead, Mr. Franklin, I had to attend his funeral, I'm sorry if that cramps your style, but it won't happen again." She sighed deeply. How could it happen again? She asked herself, I have no one left.

"If you're not here in the next thirty minutes, you might as well start looking for a new job," he said and slammed down the phone before she could even respond.

She slowly returned the headset to the receiver. "Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Scrooge," she whispered sarcastically under her breath. She rubbed her face tiredly, but instead of remaining where she was, she went over and opened the cabinet that held her clothing. She quickly removed a pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt.

Mr. Franklin would probably have her working at the wash bins again today, she thought. At least I only have to work half a shift. The wash bin was exactly what it sounded like, large open containers with scalding hot water that required someone to manually stir their contents. They were generally used to wash sheets, curtains, and large tablecloths. Generally, this was her boss' way of punishing his workers for tardiness or disrespectful behavior. Of course, this did not matter all that much to her because then she could simply hide away in the back of the laundry and keep to herself.

Perhaps that was why she spent the night following her father's funeral alone, she did not do a great deal of socializing, and most people did not take the time to get to know her at all. Jeanette had always known that it was partially her fault, since she had spent every free moment either working or helping her father.

Getting dressed was never that hard for her, she dressed up very rarely, and jeans were the only things that she could really wear while working in the laundry. Half the time she returned home drenched anyway.

She grabbed a package of cookies from off the counter top and reached for her keys before running to the front door. Closing it behind her, she rushed her way down the hall and shot down the stairs. As she did, she nearly plowed into one of the neighbors who was coming in the opposite direction.

"My goodness, you're in quite a hurry this morning," the woman remarked, her hand brushing through her curly locks of gray hair. "How are you doing dear?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Jenkins, I don't have time to talk," she called over her shoulder. "I'm late for work. My boss is going to kill me."

The older woman offered a sympathetic nod as Jeanette disappeared down the stairs and out the front door.

* * *

Thelma Jenkins took a deep breath at the mention of Jeanette's boss, but also at the state of the young woman. She had lost weight, looked to be about as thin as an average sized paper clip. This horrified her, and although she knew that Jeanette's father had died several days before, it did not ease her concerns. The girl was just too thin.

Releasing a pent up sigh, Thelma shook her head as she recalled how the funeral had been. She had, of course, attended, but felt awkward going up to the young woman and offering her condolences. She always felt for the hardships of her neighbors, but due to her own health, she could not do very much to assist them.

"That poor dear," she muttered under her breath, all the while shaking her head.

As these words emerged, she raised her head and instead of seeing Jeanette, she was seeing a man coming up the stairs and walking in her direction.

"Excuse me," he spoke.

"Yes, young man, how can I help you?" She asked with a bright smile as she took in his appearance. He was smartly dressed and his curly hair was combed neatly. She smiled as she looked into a pair of eyes that were as blue as the sea. "I'm Thelma Jenkins, are you, by chance, the new tenant who is scheduled to move into the empty flat this week?"

"No, dear lady, I am actually looking for someone," he said. "Jeanette Waters."

"Oh dear, I'm afraid you missed her, she left probably not more than five minutes ago. She was in quite a rush, the poor dear. Said she was running late for work."

"Do you know where she works?" He asked. "It's important that I see her."

"Well, she works for a man named Harry Franklin. He runs the laundry house on Haywood Place. I used to be a regular customer there, myself but after seeing the way he treats his workers, I opted to going to another shop that is a bit further away. At least the workers there are treated with some element of dignity."

"Her situation is really that bad, isn't it?" He asked.

"She would never say that directly as she's strong-willed just like her mum, but yes, it is that bad. Before Gordon passed on, she was working twelve hour shifts as well as taking care of him."

Willy looked into the aged eyes of the neighbor. "I had no idea."

"Well, I shouldn't know as much about them as I do," she said as she wrung her hands together. "Gordon was a friend of my husband, Milton for a number of years. When Gordon could no longer go to work, he made Milton and me swear not to tell Jeanette about the reasons behind it."

"What reasons?" Willy asked.

"Gordon was deeply ashamed. He felt that it was easier for her to believe that he had been fired as opposed to being deemed incapable of working," Thelma said. When she noticed the unhappy expression on Willy's face, she reached over and touched his arm. "You must understand that our generation has never been afraid of hard work. To have a doctor, who is considerably younger, tell us that we cannot work is rather like having someone say that we are failures or no longer of any use to society because we are old. Being dismissed along with a large group of people with the same conditions and circumstances is not as big a blow to a person's self-confidence as being one individual who is sectioned off as an invalid. That's why Gordon kept silent and eventually took that secret with him to the grave."

"This same secret is what destroyed his child," Willy managed to speak. "It made her quit school and start working for a man who abuses her. How can a parent allow such a thing to happen?"

"I don't know, and although we both know that Gordon was not the perfect father, the painful truth is, Jeanette does not see that, she views him as having been flawless," she said.

"That's why she blames me for everything," he shook his head but at the same time lowered it.

"I beg your pardon?" Thelma asked, all the while noticing that the man who stood before her looked as though he was about to collapse. "I think you need to sit down, young man. Come with me, I'll put on some tea and we can continue this inside."

"Thank you," the chocolatier whispered. He could not understand why she was being so kind to him, but after only five minutes in her company, he knew instinctively that she could be trusted. Numbly, he followed her towards the door leading into her flat.

Pressing down on the lever, she opened the door and they entered. She motioned towards the sofa. "Please sit down," she said as she closed the door and started to walk towards the kitchen. "I'll be with you in a minute, I am going to heat some water for tea."

Willy nodded and started to take in Thelma's flat. Row after row of pictures hung from the walls and he smiled as he took in the various snapshots, many of which were of young children.

He must have been staring for some time because several minutes later, she appeared in the doorway, a proud smile gracing her aged face. "Those are my grandkids," she explained, thus causing him to turn around and look over at her. "The tea will be ready in a few minutes."

"You're very kind," he said.

"So are you, but perhaps before we have our tea, we should talk about what you said out there in the hallway," she said meaningfully. "You seem to be rather distracted."

"Perhaps," he said. "When I came here, I wanted to see Jeanette, but now I know that if I were to see her I wouldn't know what to say. Sometimes knowing things about people is hard, especially when you're not supposed to."

Thelma smiled impishly at him and nodded. "I know exactly what you mean, it is perhaps the reason why I didn't have to ask what your name was."

"I don't understand," he raised his head.

She smiled at him, but before she could begin to speak, she had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep the giggles from emerging. "I'm sorry, but did you honestly think for even a moment that I would have invited a perfect stranger into my home for tea, Mr. Wonka?" She arched an eyebrow at him, but when she saw the shock that crossed his face, her soft giggles evolved into full-fledged laughter.

She got to her feet and went over to the opposite side of the room and returned with a framed picture. "Have a look at this, it might shed some light on things."

She handed him the picture. On it was a snapshot of an older balding man, Willy, as well as Jeanette's father. Gordon was dressed in his janitorial uniform, while the other man was dressed in the light brown lab coat of a Wonka employee. Willy's younger self was dressed in a flamboyant olive green coat a matching vest and red bowtie. The three of them had their arms around each other and their bright smiles could have lit up any room.

"Gordon and Milton met at work and became friends. That was the ten year celebration of Milton starting work there," she said. "You see, I saw you several years after that celebration at one of the company functions. I never forget a face, especially one as handsome as yours." She giggled despite herself.

Willy flushed. "What about Jeanette, did she ever see this picture or me?"

"No, she was far too young to remember them, and by the time she got older, the functions had ceased to happen. To her, you are as much a mystery as the factory itself," she said.

Willy lowered his head. "I had intended on meeting her and trying to sort this mess out since it is my fault."

"Balderdash," she said. "This is not your fault, Mr. Wonka, it is the fault of false pride. You wanted to help her, that's why you came."

"But, I don't really know how," he objected. "I thought in coming here I could say or do something that might help, but now I'm at a loss."

He started to stand up and she reached out and grabbed his arm. "So what are you going to do? Hole yourself up in that factory again? Or are you going to face someone who scares the life out of you?" She took a deep breath and spoke, her next words bordering on a plea. "You have to tell her the truth, you're the only one who can, and if you run away, she will continue to blame you for her misfortunes. Neither of you deserve that."

"How can I face her if she hates me?" He asked.

"I don't know, but tell me truthfully, did you honestly intend on approaching her, telling her that your name is Willy Wonka, and confessing that her father was far from perfect?"

"No…yes…oh wangdoodle, I don't know," he took a deep breath.

"I do," she put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Let Jeanette meet you, give her the chance to see the man beneath all of the fame that surrounds you. Let her see the insecurity and fear that I see right at this very moment."

"I don't know if I can, I'm not very good with people," he mused.

"Now don't tell me that," she scolded him gently.

Willy took a deep breath. "I was going to tell her that my name is Bill Thompson," he admitted.

"Well then, Mr. Thompson, I will help you on one condition…"

"…I tell her the truth," he finished for her.

"You tell her the truth," she affirmed with an emphatic nod. With that, she got up and went to retrieve the teacups as well as the teapot.

When she returned to the living room, he was sitting with a white envelope now resting in his hands. "What do you have there?"

"I was going to leave this for her, but now I don't know if I should," he answered honestly.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's my offer to help," he said. "I was going to leave it and then go home, but now I'm rather intrigued and I would like to meet Jeanette face to face."

"Then let me," she said as she extended her hand to him. "After you leave here, I will put it in front of her door. Just go to the laundry house and see her. Leave the rest to fate."

"Fate?" Willy asked weakly.

"Sure," she smiled as she placed a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him. "Fate is a wonderful thing when put in the right hands."

"I need a reason to go there," he said.

"I'll give you one," she said as she put her teacup back on the table and went down the hall. When she emerged again, she was holding a large number of sheets.

"What is all this?" He asked.

"It's your Golden Ticket," she said with a wink. Willy, despite his nervousness, laughed.


	5. Chapter 4: A First Meeting

_Author's Notes: This chapter, per the suggestion of BluexWings, has been revamped and hopefully the flow is a bit smoother than it was. In defense of myself and my writing, most of my effort has been on 'In Another's Eyes' and not on this story. I apologize for that. I do like the alterations of the chapter that I have made, and will post the rest of it as chapter five. That is, in essence, trying to slow it down a little, but also keeping it as the other half of the original chapter four. This continuation will be posted hopefully sometime today._

_For the record, I am no longer in school, I graduated from high school close to 20 years ago. I would like to suggest that before making blind assumptions about a person in reviews, that you read the profile of the writer before making remarks about one's age or level of experience. I have read some work by young people that is really quite stunning, but I am not a young person anymore. I have been writing probably longer than some of you have even been alive (well over 20 years). This isn't my being arrogant about it, this is just my facing facts. I have been writing for a long time. _

_This doesn't mean that I am offended, but I have clarified in my profile that I am much older than the average poster here, so please, when you leave reviews, be careful, because while I don't take overt offense to be considered 18-20 years my junior, some people might. Not every fan fiction author is still in high school. I started writing stories in 1992, when I was in my twenties. _

_That said, enjoy._

_Edited April 7, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 4: A First Meeting**

As she stepped outside, Jeanette realized that it was much colder than she had actually anticipated. She pondered what would happen at work once she got there. At the same instance, she was asking herself why it was she had left without her jacket in the first place.

Stupid me, she chastised herself as she wrapped her arms around her body and tried to combat the cool London breeze. It was now too late for her to return home, she simply kept her pace and walked towards the laundry.

As she reached the marketplace, she raised her head and looked into the grim eyes of her boss. He was standing outside the door as he normally did. He was smoking a cigarette, and eyeing the people as they passed by. She said nothing, instead, tried to make her way towards the door. She hoped that he would not see her, but abruptly, she felt his hand gripping the sleeve of her t-shirt.

"What right have you to show up late?" He growled and it became more than obvious to Jeanette that he was simply looking for a reason to get onto her. It had been that way for years now, why would one day be any different? "You're going to have to stay two extra hours now."

"But, I'm less than an hour late," she argued.

He looked at her, his eyes practically bulging. It was no secret that this man scared her. Although he had not struck her, she often pondered what would happen if he were pushed. For all she knew, he might very well use physical violence as a means to getting his way.

"OK, you can either work the extra two hours, or you will work today for nothing," he said. "Your choice."

"Alright," she eventually relented. She knew that against this miser, she was sunk anyway. "I'll work till five."

"I knew you'd see to reason, now get inside and get started," he grunted as he released the sleeve of her shirt. As she readjusted her clothing, she stepped through the door and into the shop. "In the kindness of my heart, I have you on the counter today. Don't get used to it, though. You'll still get your hours with the bins for coming late and being insubordinate."

"Excuse me?" She asked, not really caring about the last part of his statement, but focusing instead on what he had said about the counter. During the past six years that she had worked there, she could only count on one hand the number of times she had actually worked the counter. This meant waiting on customers and helping them with the coin-operated machines as well as doing the less strenuous tasks.

"It wasn't my idea," Franklin said, his words abruptly breaking into her thoughts. "Dennis needs some help sorting through the buttons. He said that you had an eye for things like that." His expression shifted and his lips contorted to a snarl. "Now, don't be getting any strange ideas about going out with him, girlie. If I even hear of you batting eyelashes with him, you'll both be out on your asses. Have I made myself clear?"

"Transparent," Jeanette managed to speak through gritted teeth. How this man infuriated her. She watched as he left the laundry house, his back disappearing in the distance.

Releasing a pent up sigh, she walked towards the rack that held the aprons. She pulled it over her head and tied it in the back before stepped behind the counter. To anyone who took in her appearance, it was obvious that she was very angry.

Next to her a young man named Dennis Sutherland stood. He was sorting through the bin of lost buttons, all the while trying to find five or six matching ones for a woman's blouse. He turned his head towards her, but watched as she grabbed a fistful of then and started to sort through them.

"Hey Jen," he said. "How's it going?"

"It's just great, if you count being served up as Franklin's main course as entertaining," she said, her voice etched with misery.

"Don't let him bother you, he's always a bit testy when the rent comes due," Dennis said.

Jeanette shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe, but his implying that you and I are dating just pisses me off. He has some very sick ideas. I mean; why would he even think that you and I are dating?"

"No idea, but you know that he always reads more into things than are actually there. I think that was why he called you and screamed holy hell at you," he said. "It took me about a week to convince my girlfriend that he's just talking rubbish."

"It just bothers me," Jeanette said as she tossed some of the buttons into the small container next to his arm.

"There's no hard feelings Jen," he said.

"What really bugs me is Franklin's rules. According to him, we not even supposed to be friends," she said bitterly. "It's strange, but we're not his servants and yet that's pretty much what we are. Haven't you ever contemplated that there's something better out there for us?"

"I've thought about that since day one," Dennis said.

"It's funny, but just recently, I started questioning everything that's been going on. I wonder if someone is going to walk through that door and change my life," she smiled ironically. "Now, that's stupid, isn't it?"

Dennis reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Hey Jen, I know that this is really upsetting for you, but I also know that this reaction is not about Franklin. It's about your dad, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Usually I can handle Franklin."

"I know, but this is about your dad, and it's not an easy thing to contend with," he said. "Just hang in there, things will get better."

"Yeah, better," she mused more to herself than to him. When she saw his concerned gaze on her, she took a deep breath. "It's alright, Denny. Besides, I learned early on not to expect anything from it."

Dennis nodded. "You just need a friend."

"Yeah and that's exactly what Franklin doesn't want, to have his employees chumming around with one another. He probably figures it is easier to control us." She looked at the younger man. "I just don't want to be told who I'm allowed to talk to during my free time."

Dennis nodded. "I know what you mean," he said as he found two buttons that matched and placed them to one side. As he did, the door opened and someone came in. He raised his head to see that their arms were loaded down with laundry. "Don't look now, Jen, but I think the laundry monster has finally arrived to relieve you of the monotony of matching buttons."

Abruptly, she raised her head to see that behind the white sheets, a curly crop of blonde hair was visible. Smiling slightly, she waited until they both heard the mountain of sheets begin to speak, the cadence of the speech was a pleasant sounding man's voice. "Where can I put these?"

Jeanette looked at Dennis and watched as he motioned with his hand towards her. "You take care of it," he said. "I seem to be on a roll with these buttons."

She smiled and came from around the counter. As she reached the man's side, she moved a stack of baby clothes to one side so that he could put the wash down on the nearby table.

"Here, you can put the stuff right here," she said, but reached for his arm, and helped to guide him over to the table. "Sir, be careful, you're about two steps away from the dryers," she said when he started to stumble. She tightened her hold, thus keeping him from falling against the appliances. Once he was steady, she pulled about half of the laundry from his arms and placed the pile on the table. He followed suit and once he had dropped the bundle, she found herself looking into a pair of shining blue eyes.

"Thank you," he said.

"No problem," she said smiling. Despite the fact that she was having a dreadful day, she started to take in the man's appearance. He was tall; his curly hair ruffled, and he was dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans. He looked to be about ten or twelve years older than she was. At the same time, and contrary to her conscience that was screaming at her, she found herself immediately taking a liking to him. He had a sparkle in his eyes that seemed almost captivating.

Willy Wonka seemed to be thinking the same thing about her, although he was trying to conceal these thoughts from cursing through his mind. "My name is William Thompson, but you can call me Bill," he said. Oh God, he thought, that came out completely wrong.

"I'm Jean—Jeanette," she managed to say. He seemed not to mind that her voice came out high-pitched and phony.

Instead of elaborating on anything, she began to dig through the laundry and separate the colors from the whites. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Thompson," she offered.

"No, just call me Bill," he said.

"I can't. The rules state that we're not supposed to fraternize with the customers," she said nervously.

"Pardon me for saying so, but that rule sounds absolutely absurd," he said as he started to help her.

"No, please let me do this," she said. "It's my job."

Willy did not listen; instead he began to separate the wash as well. "I probably should have separated everything before I came," he offered freely. "It would seem that I am always rushing about and don't have time to take care of things like the wash."

"It's alright," she said. "That's why we're here. But, please, do let me tend to this. If my boss returns and sees you helping me, he'll…" her voice trailed.

"…He'll what?" He asked.

"He'll flip a gasket and probably use this as rationale for firing me," she responded, her voice small. At this point, she no longer cared if people knew of her plight. She rubbed her hands together and continued with the sorting.

"May I ask you something?" He asked.

"You already did," she said, a slight giggle emerging.

"That was cute, but no, I was just wondering how long you've worked here," he said.

"Since I was eighteen," she said. "I took this job to help support my father."

"You seem not to like it much," he said bluntly. "From the way you describe your boss, I am not quite sure I would like it either."

After several moments had passed, he took a deep breath. "Look, if your boss gives you a hard time, then I will take my business elsewhere if that is what I have to do. There is such a thing as common courtesy that should be bestowed upon the employees in a business."

"True, but, I've heard tell of bosses who fired their employees for far less than that," she said bluntly.

"You have?" He asked trying to keep his voice level. It was no secret that he was starting to feel rather at odds with all of this. Perhaps it was a not such a good idea for Thelma to have convinced him to come here.

"Yes, but it's no big deal," she said.

"If it's not, then why did you say it?" He asked.

"I don't know, let's just forget it. I was just thinking aloud is all," she said. "I will not spread bad tidings among the people that come in here. It's bad enough that I have them bestowed on me."

"That seems very selfless of you," he remarked.

"Maybe," she said. "Let's see, you have six sets of bedding, and several tablecloths. It should take about three hours for them to be washed, dried and pressed." She went back over to the desk where Dennis stood still separating buttons. Grabbing a clipboard, she began to fill in the boxes. Once she had finished, she separated the two pieces and handed him one. "They should be done by four this afternoon."

Willy accepted the claim ticket and left the shop.

* * *

Once he was gone, Jeanette went over to the bundle of wash and sent it to the back of the shop. Once the workers in the back had taken it, she returned to the counter. "I guess that should make Franklin happy, an order for what looks to be a hotel or restaurant."

"You liked that, 'call me Bill' character, didn't you?" Dennis asked, his face drawn into a coy smirk.

"He was cute," she said a slight giggle emerging. "Especially with all those sheets covering his head. He looked like something straight out of a haunted house."

"You liked him, and he seemed to be awfully taken with you as well," Dennis said.

"Just don't say anything to Franklin about it," she whispered. "He'll fire me and say that I was flirting with him."

Dennis nodded. "I know what you mean, but in a way, you were."


	6. Chapter 5: Return of  'Laundry Monster'

_This is the other half of the original chapter 4. Hopefully, it is OK. Yes, after going through the chapter, I noticed a great many punctuation problems that spellcheck seemed to overlook. I should have caught them before posting, but as I said in my previous author's notes; I was more focused on 'In Another's Eyes'. Since I generally read the chapters aloud, I do find the mistakes, but that chapter seemed to have gotten past my critical eye. Generally, I am much more thorough than that.  
_

_At any rate, I hope that you enjoy the revisions, and from one chapter, there are now two._

_Thanks to BluexWings for catching this bit and hopefully another read through will get everyone caught up on the mistakes. I also hope that my clarification is acceptable. I may be 36, but am not exempt from error.   
_

_My apologies for that. Of course, future chapters will be more edited than the original chapter four was._

_Enjoy and let me know if this helped resolve the 'rushedness' of the original chapter 4. I think it did._

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Return of the 'Laundry Monster'**

The day passed by slowly, almost too slow for Jeanette's taste. Her boss had returned soon after Willy had left the shop. He decided to take her off the counter and make her finish out her final hours in the back room where the bins were. Since there was nothing that needed tending with them, she was given the task of pressing the sheets that Willy had brought that morning.

The pressing work was almost as horrendous a chore as the bins themselves. While using the steam presser, Jeanette was stuck working in a part of the shop that had no air-conditioning. That meant that she was left to literally swim in her own perspiration.

It was close to four in the afternoon when her boss finally came through the room. "Do you have that Thompson fellow's stuff done?" He asked, his eyes regarding the nearly drenched young woman who was manhandling the large press.

"It's just about finished, Mr. Franklin," she said. "There's one more tablecloth and then I can bring the entire order to the front."

"Don't be slow about it," he snapped before leaving.

Once alone, Jeanette took a deep breath as the final tablecloth was finished and she managed to carefully fold it.

As soon as the task had been completed, she retrieved the stack. Inspecting her work, she released a pent up sigh and started to carry the pieces back to the front of the shop.

"Those look good, Jen," Dennis said as she came out. "You look like you've been doing aerobics back there."

"It may look that way, but that order was murder," she mused. "My back is killing me."

"Well, in one more hour, you'll be off duty and can go home," he said.

"Great," she said. "I should have gotten off an hour ago. Franklin made me stay two extra hours because I was late this morning."

Before Dennis could say another word, the door opened and he looked up. "Hey Jen, your favorite customer is back." He went over and nudged her with a soft chuckle. "Watch out for those feminine charms, they could get you in a load of trouble."

In response to these words, she scowled, but turned around. She watched as Willy came over to the table where the cleaned and pressed laundry was now waiting for him.

"Hello Jeanette," he said as he looked down at the stack of linins. "This my order?"

"Yes," she said as she rubbed her lower back. "Just like I promised."

"This is amazing," he said as he ran his hand over the top sheet. "These are still warm."

"Well, they should be, I just finished pressing them," she said all the while trying to wipe the perspiration off her forehead.

Willy looked into the tired eyes of the woman. "How much do I owe you?"

"Five pounds," she said once she had consulted the order.

Willy dug in the pocket of his pants and pulled out a small stack of bills. Once he peeled the five pound note off the stack, he handed it to her. Once she had put it in the cash box, she returned to his side.

"Is there anything else you need?" She asked. "Another order perhaps?" Deep inside, she hoped that he would have something else that needed tending. She wondered if he could see inside her mind and know that she liked his presence and did not necessarily want him to leave.

"Well, since you mentioned it, I do have another question for you," he said.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's not another order," he said a coy smile suddenly shadowing his handsome face. "I was just wondering if you ever got any time off."

"Only Sundays," she offered freely. "It's because the shop is closed. Usually I spend my free time with my fath…" her voice trailed off and she looked away. This was indeed something that she would have to get used to. "…I mean; I spend the time off alone."

Willy nodded but took a deep breath and sighed. It would take her a great deal of time to heal from the wounds her father's death must have opened up in her. How could she heal this quickly and in such a desperate place as this one?

Eventually, he broke his silence. "Jeanette, could we get together some time?" He asked. "Maybe we could take a walk or get a cup of coffee?"

She looked into the hopeful eyes of the man, all the while wanting more than anything to say yes. Instead, she shook her head sadly. "Forgive me, but I can't. If my boss finds out that I am meeting with customers when I am not working, then I would lose my job."

"He can't fire you for that," Willy said. "This is absurd."

"Perhaps, but it's a part of my life, and I can't afford to spend five months looking for another job," she said. "I have rent and other things to worry about."

"If that's the only thing that is holding you back, then I'll help you find another job," he offered. "Jeanette, you're not happy in this situation."

"Maybe not, but this situation is none of your business," she said firmly. After several minutes passed, she took a deep breath. "I know you mean well, but finding work is not exactly easy for a secondary school dropout. Believe me, I know."

"Why do you work here?" He asked.

"It's the only job I could find," she said. "I was three months short of graduating when things sort of fell to bits and I was forced to go out and find work." Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly, as her expression hardened. "Oh well, there is no use crying over spilt milk."

"No, there are others things more worthy of one's tears," he said with a gentle smile.

At that moment, she raised her head, and found herself smiling weakly at him. "Look, I would really like to get together," she said. "But, I can't, I simply have far too much to lose if I were to say yes."

"Yeah," a voice emerged, "You'd have to concern yourself with finding a new job." Jeanette and Willy turned around and she cringed when she saw Mr. Franklin standing several meters away from them, a sneer plastered across his face. "I warned you, girlie, don't get fresh with the customers. You've just broken rule number one with this smooth-talking stranger."

Willy looked at the man completely horrified. "I beg your pardon. She was not getting fresh with me, and even if she was, this is really none of your concern. You are not a slave holder, sir, you are a business proprietor, nothing more." The blunt words out, he looked at Jeanette who backed away.

Instead of speaking to her, Franklin simply shook his head. "If you don't like my business tactics, then take your junk and get out of here. You were not forced to come in, but the people who work for me must abide by my rules or they will find themselves on the unemployment line, just like your little girlfriend here."

"Gladly," he said, and looked at Jeanette. She was standing, her expression pale and her eyes filled with fright. "Come on, Jeanette, I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. We're going to find you another job, and most definitely one where you will not have to endure these sorts of abuses."

Much to his surprise, the young woman did not move, in fact, she seemed to be ignoring the words that Willy had spoken. The chocolatier watched and waited for her to say something. When she eventually did, he released an unhappy sigh.

"Please, Mr. Franklin, you can't fire me, I need this job," she pleaded.

"No, you don't," Willy said before he could stop himself.

"You stay out of this," she snapped, her voice etched in hostility. She turned back to face the man. "Mr. Franklin, please, I wasn't flirting."

"Get out," the man snarled as he jerked away from her and retreated to the back of the shop. "Make sure your boyfriend takes his junk with him."

Jeanette said nothing. Instead, she removed the apron and allowed it to fall to the floor. Without doing anything else, she slowly walked outside, her head lowered.

* * *

Out on the street, Jeanette suddenly felt the cool breeze wafting about her. She shivered, but no words emerged. Instead, she decided that there was nothing more that she could do except to make her way back in the direction of her flat.

From behind her, Willy doggedly followed, his arms once more loaded down with laundry. He stopped for several minutes and dropped the bundle on a bench before inching his way out of the brown colored coat he wore.

"Jeanette!" He called out to her and watched as she stopped and slowly turned around.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"Here, take this, it will warm you up. You look as though you are freezing to death, and after sweating in there, you could catch your death out here," he said as he extended the object to her. Hesitantly, she accepted the offered coat and he watched as she put it on.

She immediately felt warmer, but eventually raised her head. "Thank you, although I don't really know why I'm saying that. My life was already in shambles, but now because of you, it's even worse than before."

Willy went over and retrieved the laundry and carried it back over to where she was standing. "I didn't mean to make things worse for you."

"But you did," she said. "You came into the shop today and it cost me my job. Maybe I wasn't exactly innocent in all of this, as I thought you were quite nice."

"You did?" He asked.

She nodded. "There was something warm and friendly about you," she admitted. "I was having a lousy day, and you made me smile."

"And I made you loose your job, although it seemed to resemble slave labor," he said. "You know, I'm actually surprised that that man could find it in his heart to even pay you for the work you do."

"Somehow I got by," she said.

"If you don't mind my asking, how much do you get a month? Only enough to scrape by. It seems to me that he has been doing this as a way to keep you dependent on him. It seemed to be working, at least until today."

"That wasn't your problem," she snapped.

"Now it is," he said. "Because at times I am too blunt for my own good."

"You can probably play savior for other people," she said sadly. "In trying to help me, you have done more damage than you could possibly know."

"I only wanted to help," he said.

"But you didn't," she shook her head. "Can't you understand? It took me more than five months to find that job. Five months of living on watered down soup, and eating dried out bread. I thought during that time, I had paid my dues, but I guess I haven't." She covered her face with her hands as she sat down on the bench. From there, she could see the chocolate factory, the smoke rising in the distance from it.

A wave of bitterness swept over her as she caught sight of it. "Even with that job, I could have afforded to pay my rent and keep food on the table. Perhaps it was not the kind of luxuries that you may be accustomed to, but it was enough for me."

"I truly had no intention of making things worse for you," he said.

"That's an understatement," she said snappishly. She lowered her head and started to take off the jacket, the cold air suddenly shooting through her. After several moments had passed, she extended the object to him and started to turn away. "I have to go."

"Where will you go?" He asked.

"I'm going home," she said and walked away from him.

Instead of following her, Willy watched as she left. His eyes were filled with sadness as she disappeared around a corner.

This was going to be much harder than he thought. He gathered his laundry, all the while watching her movement. Once she was gone, he took a deep breath and sat back down on the bench, the laundry still draped over his lap.

He was so caught up in his own contemplations that he did not notice that someone had approached where he was sitting.


	7. Chapter 6: Cherry Street

_Author's Notes: Now I'm back on my regular writing schedule. I hope that you will not mind three additions or revisions in one day. I am going to return my focus to my other story, but I hope that this update is alright. I read through it twice, and hopefully I managed to catch all the mistakes._

_As a side note, I always wondered what happened to the old candy shop on Cherry Street from the 2005 film. Although some might say other businesses took over and it was no big deal, I really liked that little shop. Of course, this idea is kind of different, but hey, I never was one to go along with the crowd. Here's hoping you enjoy this installment. Let me know what you think._

_Chapter disclaimer, the quotation from Eleanor Roosevelt is borrowed, but in my opinion, is positively brilliant! Since my favorite Wonka does cite writers and poets, I figured that he would probably also be aware of various quotations and where they originated, so this story has some of the ones I'm particularly fond of._

_Edited April 7, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 6: Cherry Street**

"How is she?" The voice emerged and he turned around to see the very same young man that he had seen in laundry shop earlier that day. The young man carried a hesitant smile on his face, but he regarded Willy through kind brown eyes. "I-I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything. It's just that…well, I quit." He sat down next to him. "My name is Dennis, or Denny. That's what everyone calls me."

"I'm Bill," Willy said, intentionally using his alias name. "You quit?"

"Don't be so surprised, you seemed pretty insistent that Jeanette would, well, your stubbornness wore off on me as well, I guess," he said.

"Why did you quit?" Willy asked.

"The realization that while I was there, the man treated me like shit. He wasn't nice to any of us at all, and seemed to be looking for a reason to fire Jeanette. You gave him one. But, he wasn't just mean to people like her; he was mean to everyone. After you left the shop, I suddenly remembered my mother's favorite quotation: 'No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Never give it.'."

"That's from Eleanor Roosevelt," Willy said with a nod.

"Yeah," Dennis said. "She always threw that saying at me whenever I was allowing someone to treat me like I was an idiot. Maybe she did it for a very good reason, because I was letting Franklin make me feel inferior."

"So you left, and his power over you disappeared," the chocolatier nodded. "Standing up to your boss is a brave thing to do."

"Actually I told him more than that," Dennis said. "I told him that he was a moron. He always treated us like we were beneath him."

"You're not beneath him, he's just a terrible boss," Willy said.

"I suppose it is strange that someone could just come in and knock a ton of sense into my head like that, but you did. After Franklin threw you both out, I took that container with all those buttons inside and dumped them over his head. I guess, something just snapped inside of me, something that would have probably made my mother very proud."

Willy offered a tentative smile in response to the young man's words. "When I went in there, I didn't expect to destroy the lives of two young people. I'm, at least, glad that you were able to find your own self-respect though it."

"For what it's worth, you didn't destroy me and I don't think you destroyed Jeanette either," Dennis said. "Her life was already ruined long before today even happened. The truth is, I probably only stuck around there to keep her some company because I knew she depended on that job."

"You've known her for awhile, haven't you?" Willy asked.

"Not really. I actually met her less than half a year ago," Dennis said. "I only started talking to her after her old man got sick. Nobody else seemed to care about her; she was just some lost soul roaming aimlessly. I started talking to her just about general stuff, nothing too personal. I discovered that the more I talked to her, the more grateful I was that I didn't have her lot in life. I liked her as a friend; once I managed to chisel away the attitude. Through that, I found someone very nice beneath the surface."

Willy nodded but glanced over towards the factory. "Is that shell of attitude her response to the pain?"

"I think so," he said. "The funny thing is, we have very little in common. She's been working her tail off trying to take care of her dad for years and I've always been out looking for the next party. It's like two different worlds."

"Did she ever mention her father to you?" Willy asked.

"Only that he was doing really badly," he said. "I had to play off like I didn't care, or else Franklin would make some offhand remark about us. I swear, that man could not, even for an instant, see that two people could just be friends without screwing around. It's sad how some people think." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, after we got to know each other, she told me something really neat about her dad."

"What did she tell you?" Willy asked.

"She said that he once worked for Willy Wonka up at that factory, but she never said what he did," Dennis said. "I used to daydream when I was a little kid about one day learning how to make candy. My uncle once gave me this funny little kit that you could experiment with and make your own chocolate." He smiled, despite himself. "I remember my first try, the candy tasted alright, but it looked absolutely horrible. I guess after a while I gave up, but when Jeanette told me about this job that Mr. Waters once had, I was suddenly reminded of that part of my childhood. Even for an eighteen-year-old, to hear about a job in a chocolate factory seemed like something straight out of a fairy tale. Later, when I asked Jeanette about it, she just turned away and said nothing. I think she resented Mr. Wonka for firing her dad."

"Did she ever say that?" He asked.

"No, in fact, I never really knew what her feelings about Mr. Wonka were. I just knew that she always looked pained whenever the factory or his name was mentioned. Even though we knew each other, I came to realize that she didn't let people into her world very much. I think the only reason she mentioned her father was because he was sick, but she did it in a way that no one could really empathize with her. The day after Mr. Waters passed on, she showed up at the laundry house and for whatever reason, someone mentioned Willy Wonka. Her response was pretty intense and I really don't know why, but she looked as though someone had gone and punched her in the gut."

Willy got to his feet and started to walk away. "I have to find out what she really thinks about all of this." His gaze shifted and he was left staring at the distant factory.

Dennis raised his head. "Why?"

"I knew her father, and although it seems strange for me to say so, this is about something that he wanted for her. He was a good man, Dennis, a very kind and compassionate person, but he was not flawless. There were things about his daughter that he sadly overlooked," Willy said.

The young man took a deep breath but crossed his arms over his chest. "This doesn't make any sense. Aside from the fact that we are talking about Jeanette, this is not exactly an easy task to undertake. She's been through so much."

Willy took a deep breath and nodded. "I know, but maybe you can help me. I have an idea." He got up and grabbed the pile of laundry and started to walk away from the bench. He stopped and turned around to see that Dennis was still standing and unmoving. "You coming?"

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"To Cherry Street. That is where everything started, and perhaps is where a new beginning can take place," he said.

Dennis nodded and the two men walked several blocks until they reached Willy's former residence on Cherry Street. The chocolatier was overtly taken aback by how much the place had changed since he had left. It had literally been years since he had returned to this particular street. The building still belonged to him, but the dwelling had been completely neglected.

"You live here?" Dennis asked abruptly breaking into the chocolatier's thoughts. "It looks like it should have been condemned before it was built."

"Not everyone lives at the Ritz, and not everyone starts out there either," Willy said. "I still own this building, but I haven't been back here in several years. I almost wish I hadn't come. It looks pretty bad, doesn't it?"

"It's nothing that a little spit-shine won't take care of," Dennis said optimistically as he looked at the front of the former candy store. Peering inside through the glass door, he groaned. "OK, maybe a lot more than just that."

Willy unlocked the door and they entered the shop.

Once the door had been closed, Dennis began to take in every aspect of the run down shop. Approaching the counter, he ran his hand across it and sighed when he noticed that it was now covered with dust. "This is sadder than sad, you know. I mean; in its heyday, this place must have been a fantastic little shop. Now, it looks like hell done over."

"What would you do if you could turn it into something?" Willy asked curiously.

"I don't know," he said. "I would probably convert it into something interesting, like a shop that sells all these different sorts of models and other things that kids like to put together. Something for kids, no doubt, because it has that essence about it."

"You're an artist?" Willy asked.

"Not really, I just like building things. You know, take something that's old and make it new. Before he died, my grandfather used to take old cars and restore them. It was pretty incredible the time and effort that went into them. Before I finished school, I thought about going into some sort of art program. I thought it would be fun to do what my grandpa did, but now I'm just trying to train to be a handyman. One doesn't get much practice doing that by working in a laundry, that's for damn sure."

"Well, you're not at the laundry anymore, why don't you restore this shop?" Willy asked.

"Are you serious?" Dennis asked.

"Sure, you need experience and I need help, it's perfect," Willy said.

"That sounds fair, but is this a real job offer you're making to me?" he asked.

"Yes, and if you want it official, then I'll draw up a contract for you to sign, but this is a real job offer," Willy said. "I let this place go down hill, and I need some help getting it restored."

"Maybe you can make the same sort of offer to Jeanette since she needs a job too. She's not afraid of hard work, and if we offer to train her, then she will have no choice but to accept."

"I don't want her to accept out of desperation," Willy said.

"Then tell her that. Make her the same offer and then see what happens," Dennis said. "After all, this looks like a pretty massive job to take on. Even though I am psyched about doing it, I'm going to need some help."

Willy nodded. "Let's go upstairs. There's a flat over the shop. I'm not sure if it is in better condition, though."

Dennis followed the chocolatier up the stairs and when they reached the top, Willy opened the door and the two of them entered the studio apartment. "Holy mackerel!" The teenager gasped when he saw the large room that beckoned him. "This place looked like a dream, and you let it fall to bits."

"What do you mean?" Willy asked.

"Just look around," Dennis said. "It's full of treasures, like those old bay windows that my mum used to love. You could put plants in them, or you could sit in them for hours writing or reading books. Why the hell did you let this place fall into such disorder? If it was mine, I'd have treasured every last inch of it."

"I didn't have my priorities in the right place, I suppose," Willy said shrugging his shoulders. "Dennis, do you even know the history of this place?"

"No," he responded. "Should I?"

"It might make my reasons a bit easier to grasp," Willy said. He motioned with his hand and the two of them went over to the bay window and seated themselves in it. "My name is Bill Thompson, but that's not the only name I go by. I am here because I want to help Jeanette and I will need assistance from other people to do that." He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he could see the younger man seated across from him.

"This sounds serious," Dennis said. "What's your, uh, other name?"

"You really want to know?" Willy asked, a bemused expression on his face.

"If you want to tell me," Dennis said.

"Do you remember when you told me how you reacted when Jeanette told you that her father had worked for Willy Wonka?" He asked.

"Yeah, but what does this have to do with your name?" He asked as he looked at Willy. The chocolatier simply nodded, but almost laughed when Dennis' next words emerged. "Are you shitting me?"

"No," Willy said. "Last night, I received a letter from Jeanette's father…"

"…But her father's dead, he died last week," Dennis objected, thus interrupting him.

"Well, he must have written it before he died. I guess he left it with the intention of having her deliver it to me," Willy said. "That was why it had been a long time since I had heard anything from him or his family. I didn't know Gordon Waters all that well, I met him briefly when I hired him to work for me."

Dennis stood up and started to walk away from Willy, his back now facing him. After several minutes, he turned around and spoke, his voice matter-of-fact. "I can't believe it, son-of-a-gun! You're Willy Wonka!"

"Yes," emerged the simple answer.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were the world's most prominent recluse?" Dennis chuckled.

Willy smiled. "I'm here to fulfill the request from Gordon Waters." He pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to Dennis. "I'm trusting you with these words. The reason is because I think you care for Jeanette and want to help her through this difficult time as well."

Dennis nodded but accepted the letter and started to read through it.

Several minutes later, he returned it to Willy. "He really trusted you to do something that huge, didn't he?"

"Well, it would seem that he knew me rather well, even though we had only met once," Willy said.

"So, that means that you're serious about helping Jeanette?" He asked.

The chocolatier nodded. "Yes, although I am quite doubtful if she will even speak to me, especially after what happened this afternoon when she lost her job."

"Yeah," Dennis chuckled. "You really laid the golden egg with that one. Don't worry; she'll come around. Of course, she's going to freak out big time when she finds out who you are," the teenager smiled coyly. "This could be interesting."

"You can't tell her, Dennis," Willy said.

"I won't, but there'll definitely be fireworks when it happens," he snickered despite himself. When he noticed the pensive expression on Willy's face, his laughter died. "It will work out, you know everything happens for a reason."

"I'm trying to remember that," the chocolatier said. "Maybe between the three of us, we can reach her somehow."

"Three?"

"Thelma Jenkins, one of Jeanette's neighbors, is going to help by delivering some mail for me," he said.

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"Well, for now, we should probably start getting this place fixed up," he said. "If I am going to do this, then I'm going to need a place to stay."

"I thought you lived at the factory," Dennis said.

"Generally I do, but with the Golden Tickets floating about, it would not be safe for me to sneak in and out like I've been doing," he said. He cast a glance across the room to where his bed used to be. The place truly did look a mess. Eventually, he looked at Dennis. "I guess all we can do is get started first thing tomorrow. I still have to return the laundry to Thelma."

"You borrowed laundry?" Dennis chuckled. "This is too weird."

Willy smiled. "It will no doubt get weirder."

"I'm counting on it," Dennis said as he began to laugh. Soon, his next question emerged as he tried to suppress his amusement. "Mr. Wonka, are you really serious about me helping you put this place back together?"

The chocolatier nodded. "I am, but please, for the time being, you have to continue calling me Bill, I have to get used to it. If you slip even once, then everything could be ruined, not just for Jeanette, but also regarding the media. I know about those 'Wonka Sightings' things they've been putting out with the papers and they are rather scary, especially if I get caught."

"If they only knew, but yeah, I think you're right," he cast a glance around the flat. "You know, my mother's gonna freak when I tell her that I lost one job but got another one doing what I love. Funny, I really was a washout in the local laundry scene, but damn, this sure beats sorting buttons."

Willy chuckled. "Somehow I can believe that," he said.


	8. Chapter 7: The Conspiracy

_Author's Notes: Before I post this chapter, I want to clarify that this story is sort of set up like the fairy tale, '__**King Thrush Beard**__' by the Brothers Grimm. In that story, a princess has put down and insulted all the possible suitors until her father, the king forces her to marry the first peasant that comes along. When she does this, she unknowingly marries one of the kings whom she has insulted. Later, she must go through a series of tests to see if she has what it takes to become his queen. During this time, of course, she falls in love with him and later discovers who he really is. I was so taken with this story, that I thought it would be fun to sort of write a Willy Wonka story with this sort of inspiration going through my mind._

_Having Jeanette not know who Willy is, serves both characters. Willy meets and befriends a woman who likes him for him, not for the factory or the candy, and Jeanette meets someone who treats her with patience and kindness (this is more or less the Wilder Wonka persona), and does not realize that this is the very same person she is supposed to hate and despise. This not only combines my love of the Brother's Grimm fairy tales, but it also sheds a tiny bit of light on one of my other favorite films '__**You've got Mail**__'._

_So you might say that this story has a number of really nice influences added to it. With that said, please give me a review and let me know what you think. I hope this chapter doesn't seem rushed, but I really don't want to piddle around with these concepts for too much longer, that could be boring, and it seems almost cruel for a writer to subject Jeanette through all of this while still grieving her father._

_Oh yes, business letters are not my strong suit. Although I have written a few in my day, the letter in this chapter is probably not a typical industry type letter, but Willy Wonka is not really your typical industry tycoon. _

_Hopefully the pace is good and workable for all of you. Enjoy._

_Edited April 8, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Conspiracy**

About half an hour after leaving Bill Thompson standing with a bundle of laundry, Jeanette arrived at her flat. She had wandered aimlessly during that time, but eventually resolved herself to returning home. She did not necessarily want to go home, but she did, her attention now on a bunch of newspapers that were securely tucked underneath her arm.

She closed the door and came slowly into the kitchen and plopped down on the chair at the table. God, this day had to have been the worst day of her life. At the very least, for once, she could not blame this misfortune on Willy Wonka.

Her thoughts shifted to Bill Thompson. Why in God's name was she even thinking about him? Sure, he was attractive, but there was more to a person than how physically good-looking they were. She took a deep breath as her thoughts started to drift. Her grumbling stomach combined with the doorbell brought her crashing back down to earth.

Standing up, she slowly walked towards the door.

When she eventually opened it, she gasped when she recognized who was standing in the threshold. "What are you doing here?" She asked as she looked up at Willy Wonka.

"Your friend Dennis gave me your address," he began, a small smile on his face.

"He's not really a friend, he's just a guy I know," she said.

"Oh, he's a friend," Willy said. "He quit his job at the laundry house after Franklin threw us out."

"He did?" She asked.

He nodded, but instead of speaking, he clutched what appeared to be a business sized envelope. "May I come in?" He asked.

"Sure, sorry, I didn't mean to leave you standing out there," she said, but backed away so he could enter. He came inside and closed the door behind him. As she was walking towards the kitchen, she turned and cast a glance back in his direction. "Do you want anything; a tea or coffee, perhaps?"

"Do you have hot chocolate?" He asked.

"No, I'm afraid I can't afford that kind of luxury," she smiled weakly as she went over to the table and pulled a chair. "Please sit down, maybe I can throw something together that might have the same consistency. Generally that means heating a glass of chocolate milk and adding some whipped cream when it's done. Does that sound OK to you?"

"Don't put yourself out on my account," he said as he sat down. Once he was comfortable, he placed the envelope on the table.

"It's no trouble," she said as she reached into the refrigerator and pulled a bottle of milk out and opened it. "So, did you manage to get home with all that laundry?" She asked as she poured some of the chocolaty liquid into a saucepan and set it on the hotplate.

"I managed just fine," he said. "Of course, I heard a few remarks about my looking like an overgrown marshmallow with legs."

"I was wondering what you were doing with so many bed sheets," she mused.

"Yes, it was quite an experience," he said. When he saw that she was smiling, he returned the gesture.

"You know, I probably should have helped you carry all that. For some strange reason, after I walked away, I could hear my father's voice in my head saying, 'Jeannie, you should have helped him and not stormed away in a huff'. I guess ever since he died, I think about how he would react to things and what he would say to me each time I mess up."

"This time, you didn't mess up," he said. "I did."

"No big deal," she said. "I have found myself growing accustomed to disasters, they seem to follow me around on a regular basis."

"Jeanette, when did your father die?" He asked.

"Five days ago," she said. "He was very sick. The priest had come late in the evening to conduct last rites. I never understood that stuff, but since that was what he wanted, I felt it was important. Anyway, about ten minutes after he had finished, my father was gone."

"And you went back to work so soon after his passing?" Willy asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Franklin only gave me the day off to attend the funeral yesterday. Today, I was ordered to go back to work."

"That's not right," Willy said.

"You know that and I know that, but that is the way this man runs his business. I have spent the last five and a half years working for him. The only thing that would have stopped him from yelling would have been if it had been me that had died."

"Unbelievable, and here I wanted to come by and apologize because you lost your job because of me," he said with disbelief in his eyes.

"It wasn't really much of a job, was it?" She asked shyly as she went over to the stove and turned off the heat. The chocolate milk was warmed and she reached for two coffee mugs. "I had some time to think about it while I was out and about. All I could think of was how you had described it as 'slave labor'."

"Well, in a way it was." He watched as she poured the contents into the mugs and returned to the table. Once she was there, she placed one of the cups in front of him.

"I just remembered, I don't have any whipped cream," she said apologetically. "I hope that you don't mind just having hot chocolate milk."

"It's no trouble," he said. "Why don't you sit, and then we can have a toast."

"With chocolate milk?" She asked.

"Why not? The first drink in the presence of a new friend," he smiled. "It seems fitting, don't you think?"

"After I got so angry with you," she whispered. "I mean; you really see me as a friend?" she asked trying all the while to keep a brave smile on her face. She wondered if he could tell that she felt as though any minute, she would be breaking down. "I don't have very many of those," she eventually whispered, her voice low. "You're probably my first."

"Then let me be that, Jeanette," he said and held up the mug. "To newfound friends, and future successes."

She smiled. "To friends, and my finding a new job." She took a sip of the drink and swallowed the milk. As she did, she glanced over at him. He had taken a sip, but his face grimaced, thus indicating that he did not like the taste of the hot chocolate milk at all. "It isn't that great, is it?" She asked. "I'm sorry, I guess my palate isn't that refined when it comes to chocolate."

"Don't worry about it," he said as he raised his head and smiled secretly. "Perhaps you just need the right ingredients."

"Maybe," she said. "I was never that great of a cook, but I always tried. Papa used to tell me that I had a gift of making people feel better by making an effort. I guess there are just some things that one cannot really fancy up."

"Perhaps, but sometimes it coincides with the idea of people giving more than they get back," he said.

"Maybe," she said as she took the mugs from the table and returned them to the sink. As she did this, she took a deep breath trying to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in her throat. This lump was basically instructing her to cry, but she was literally forcing herself not to.

Willy stood up and walked over her. "Jeanette, you seem to be the sort of person I describe. I mean; the kind who gives more than they receive."

She looked up at him. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's the truth," he said as he rested his hand on her shoulder. "Isn't it?" As these words emerged, he smiled.

He really has a beautiful smile, she thought for a split second. Instead of saying so, she lowered her head, all the while trying not to confirm or deny what he had said. After several seconds had passed, her gaze shifted and she found herself staring at the envelope that was resting on the table. "What's that?" She asked.

Willy reached over and picked it up. "I found this on the floor just outside your door. I guessed that either you dropped it or the person who wanted to deliver it, couldn't find your mailbox." He handed it to her.

Accepting it, she looked down at the square shaped object in her hand. Across the front of it, her full name and postal address was written. There was no stamp on it to indicate that it had been mailed, instead, it looked as though the sender had simply brought it to her flat and left it there.

Carefully, she opened it and pulled out the contents. There looked to be two pieces of paper inside, and she unfolded the one on top. It was a listing with columns of numbers. She stared at the figures that adorned the page, but shook her head. "What does all this mean?"

Willy looked at the off white paper that was in her hand, all the while knowing fully what it was. He said nothing regarding it, instead, he extended his hand to her. "May I?"

She handed him the top page, all the while not noticing that the second page slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor.

Willy glanced down at the page, but eventually raised his head and looked at her, a smile stretching across his face.

"What is it?" She asked all the while noticing him smiling. "Bill, you know what this is, please tell me. It looks like nothing more than a bunch of jumbled up numbers. I was never very good at math."

"In a way, that's just what it is," he said, but looked down and spotted the other piece of paper on the floor. Leaning over, he retrieved it. Once he straightened out, he extended it to her. "Here, you dropped this. It might help explain what these numbers mean."

Jeanette accepted the letter and began to read.

* * *

**Dear Ms. Waters:**

**After receiving your father's letter, I went and checked the information about his employment history here at the factory. Through this, I discovered a discrepancy that must be rectified.**

**Gordon Waters should have received Workman's Compensation from me when he was deemed unable to work over six years ago. Because this happened one day prior to my closing the factory and having to lay off all the workers, I failed to recognize this. Your father had paid over twelve years worth of taxes to protect himself if ever he was deemed medically unable to work. This means, in plain English, that he was never fired. Instead, he had been given special instruction from his doctor that deemed him unable to work in the capacity, which he had been hired.**

**I apologize profusely for having overlooked all of this, and I would like to reimburse you the monies that I should have paid to him at the time he was deemed unable to work. Enclosed is a payment plan, which I shall be keeping track of and sending to you on a monthly basis.**

**Again, I wish to offer my sincerest condolences to you for your loss. If you have any questions, or concerns, please, feel free to contact me.**

**Sincerely,**

**William Wonka**

**President and CEO Wonka Industries**

* * *

Jeanette stared at the letter and then looked at the man standing in her flat. "H-he…" she bit down on her lip. "Papa…d-did he even know?" She sank down on the chair and shook her head as she handed him the letter and watched as he skimmed through it. "Why would Mr. Wonka want to do this after so much time has passed?"

Willy smiled weakly as he returned the letter to the table with the numerical chart. "Perhaps he did it because he has a conscience."

"So many people could have just tossed the papers away and acted as though nothing had happened," she said.

"They could have," the chocolatier nodded. "But, he chose not to."

"All of this after I said so many cruel things about him," She shook her head, as guilty tears began to stream from beneath her eyes. "I blamed him for what happened to us, but according to this, he wasn't at fault. Now he wants to help me…a-and I hated him…"

Willy wrapped a gentle arm around her, thus causing her to look up. "He must have hurt you pretty badly for you to feel the extent of anger that you felt."

She nodded. "It was wrong…" her voice trailed off.

"…You didn't know the whole story, don't blame yourself for that," he said. "Tell me what happened that made you so bitter towards him."

She closed her eyes, her hands now covering where his rested. "When my father lost his job, we had no money. Things were pretty bad for us, so I dropped out of school and went to work for Mr. Franklin at the laundry house. Everything seemed to go from bad to worse. Three years after that, Papa got sick and I had to spend all the time away from work taking care of him. There was no time for me to do the things other people my age did. Instead of going out and partying, I spent all my time taking care of my father and working to keep a roof over our heads. Papa started to notice that I was angry with Mr. Wonka and kept trying to get me to change my mind. I couldn't do it because I kept remembering all the things that I regretted about my life. I thought…" her voice trailed and she lowered her head.

Willy took a deep breath, but continued to listen as she spoke, her voice cracking with emotion.

"…I thought that my father was more worried about Mr. Wonka than he was about me," she confessed. "That's probably why it hurt so much. I had given up everything for my father, and then when I got upset, it didn't seem to make any difference. Papa saw Mr. Wonka as a hero, and I felt unloved." She shook her head.

"You mustn't believe that your father didn't love you, if he wrote a letter to Willy Wonka, then it must mean that he was concerned for you," he said. "You know, some people do have difficulties trying to put their feelings into words."

"I always thought Papa was perfect," she said.

"He's was a human being, with human qualities and imperfections, but do you know what seemed to be perfect about him?" He asked.

"What?"

"The love you carried in your heart for him and the love he carried for you," he said. "Love is the greatest thing that exists, Jeanette."

"That's beautiful," she whispered as she began to rub the tears from her eyes.

"May I ask you something?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Tell me about the letter your father wrote."

She shook her head. "I can't, it wasn't addressed to me; so I didn't read it."

"You didn't?"

"No," she said as she shook her head. "I guess I could have, but when I found it, I just wanted to deliver it and put all of this behind me. I had no idea that the letter would even be answered. All I could remember was walking up to the factory gates, dropping it off, and coming home. I kept asking myself how this man would react; if he would judge me or understand what my motivations were."

"What do you mean?" Willy asked.

"I mean; everyone has motives. They do things because they expect some sort of reward for them. Papa always said 'a good deed should be reward enough', but I didn't know if leaving that letter would be deemed as such. I knew I was doing something that my father had requested of me, but if you want to know the truth, I didn't want to deliver it at all."

"Why not?" He asked.

"Because I was scared. Maybe I have too much pride, but I didn't want Mr. Wonka to see me there or think that I was after something." She paused. "That sounds really pathetic, doesn't it?"

"No, it sounds honest," he said.

She raised her head. "I didn't expect him to do this at all, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say to him."

"Sometimes people can be surprising," he said.

"They can," she sniffed but wiped her face with the palm of her hand. Opening her eyes, she realized that she was still leaning up against him. She sat up and blushed. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," he said. "Do you at least feel a little bit better?"

"I guess, but I still need to find a job," she said.

"But, this assistance should make it not so urgent for you," he said. "At the very least, you can now afford a decent package of hot chocolate."

"Maybe," she said. "But, I still want to work. I mean; what would Mr. Wonka think if I was living off his assistance?"

"When one stops and considers how things have been for you during the past six years, I honestly don't think he'd mind if you did," he said.

"It's strange though," she said. "I mean; the only person I have ever been dependant on has been my father. I can't imagine forcing that onto Mr. Wonka."

"Then perhaps I can offer you something that might be acceptable. How would you feel about helping your friend Dennis and me with some renovating work?" He asked. "I have this place that needs a lot of work, and Dennis even said that it would be impossible for the two of us to do it all by ourselves."

"But, I don't know anything about renovating," she said. "I used to do artwork when I was in school, but that was a long time ago and I probably forgot since then."

"You never forget something like that, it becomes a part of you," he said. "It dwells inside of you, and gives you strength and courage when you need it the most."

"Oftentimes, it is difficult to look back on all the hopes and dreams that I had as a child and try to rationalize what it is I have became. There are times when I fear that this is the hardest part of living."

"You don't forget the things that have become a part of you, they stay with you no matter how hard life may get," he said. "They are the things that always remain constant."

"Maybe, but sometimes I think it would be better if I could forget," she said. "Then at least I have no room for regrets."

"Then don't regret, celebrate," Willy said.

"I'm afraid that there really hasn't been very many reasons for me to celebrate," she said. "The idea does sound nice though."

"You'll find something, of that I'm almost certain," he said. "Perhaps when you stop and think about it. That is, in essence, what your father probably wanted."

She took a deep breath but reached over and touched his hand. "You know, I think I like having a friend," she said as he placed his other hand on top of hers.

"So do I," he said, his voice etched in sincerity.


	9. Chapter 8: Chamges

_Author's Note: I have pondered whether or not to post this chapter, but decided that it would probably not be a bad idea to give the latest chapters to the two stories before I leave town. I hope that you enjoy the chapter. Please review. It's important to me because I am still rather sad about the events of earlier this week and emotionally the support would really mean a lot._

_Edited April 8, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 8: Changes**

As her newfound friend was putting on his jacket to leave later that evening, Jeanette stood next to the door. "When should I start helping you and Denny with the renovating?"

Willy handed her a slip of paper with a typed out address on it. "Come to this address at nine in the morning on the twelfth."

"But that's three days from now," she objected. "I should start immediately. Especially since I have so much to learn."

He shook his head adamantly. "No, you need some time for yourself now," he said firmly. "You're still grieving this monumental loss." He reached for her hands and squeezed them gently before releasing them. "Use what time you have, go and buy yourself some food, you're as thin as a rail. And for goodness sakes, do get your hands on some good hot chocolate. You shouldn't have to live on soup and hot chocolate milk anymore."

"I know you're right about the time on my own, but it's lonely sitting around here by myself," she said with a tiny pout. "If I can work, then at least I'm with my friends, and not alone here and staring at four walls."

Willy nodded; she was definitely cute when she pouted. "Alright, how would it be if we met for dinner tomorrow night?"

"A date?" She whispered.

"Only if you wish to call it that," he smirked, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "It could also be called a dinner between friends, however you prefer. Would that make you more in agreement with not working tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"Great, I'll stop here and pick you up at seven," he said as he opened the door. "I'll see you then."

Once he had left, she closed the door and took a deep breath. I had no idea that I would find a friend in this way, she thought as she went over to the table and picked up Willy Wonka's letter. Running her hand over it, she shivered as a feeling of guilt washed over her.

He never knew of my feelings, she thought sadly. Although it was a typical business letterhead, there was something personal about the letter, something genuine that she could not get over. Willy Wonka had written and delivered a letter to her less than a day after she had dropped her father's letter in his mailbox.

"Papa," she spoke to the stillness. "I was wrong." She read through the letter a second time and then looked down at the second piece of paper. The numbers that stretched out before her eyes decided for her that there was no way she could put it off, she would have to write her mysterious benefactor a letter. At least tell him something.

She reached for a piece of paper, her hand trembling as she grabbed a ballpoint pen. She would have liked to write him with her father's favorite fountain pen, but she had never learned the proper way to write with one. She stared longingly at the pen, but eventually refocused her attention back onto the piece of paper which she would use to write back to the chocolatier.

It took quite some time before she could write something beyond a semi-formal greeting.

After some time, she decided to write what was in her heart. Her father had done the same thing when he had written to Willy Wonka; maybe she could do this as well.

She pulled the paper closer and positioned her pen over it as she began to write, her initial draft much shorter than even she anticipated.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Wonka,_

_I received your letter this afternoon when I returned home. I don't really know what to say. In the wake of my father's passing, I have not had the time to process much of anything that has happened to me. I fear that any words that I might try to render will never even come close to the gratitude I feel towards you for your honesty and kindness._

_My father never mentioned to me that he was unable to work, perhaps it was his pride that prevented him from telling me what his doctor had said. If I had only known of this sooner, then perhaps things would have been different for me than what they evolved to. I cannot fault you for that, but I do wish that my father had told me what had really happened._

_Thank you again for writing to me, your words offered me a great deal of comfort during this difficult time. I did not expect any response, much less the financial assistance, but seeing as I lost my job today, it has proven to be a monumental blessing to me._

_Fondest regards,_

_Jeanette Waters_

* * *

She looked over the letter once she had finished writing it. Her handwriting was shaky, the words somewhat bunched together, but at the very least, they were legible. In the recesses of her mind, she knew that she had written something that her father could be proud of. That knowledge alone, made the young woman smile.

Getting up from the table, she cast a glance outside. It was now dark, and perhaps not the most ideal time for her to leave home and go deliver the letter. Instead, she folded it in two places and retreated to her writing desk in order to pick up a matching envelope.

I hope he doesn't mind peach stationary since that is all I have, she thought as she carefully put the letter into the envelope. She sealed it and turned it over. Carefully, she wrote the name 'Mr. Wonka' on the front.

Returning to the table, she sat down and stared at the letter. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she spoke to the stillness. "I hated him, but I still can't believe he cares enough to want to do this for me. Oh Papa, you were so right about him."

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the table. Several minutes later, she fell asleep, her body draped over the letter she had painstakingly written.

* * *

The next time Jeanette opened her eyes, the morning sunlight was shining through the window and she shifted. Oh God, I must have really been tired, she thought as she glanced over at the clock and saw that it was close to noon.

Stupid me, she thought I went and fell asleep against the table. She rubbed her head gingerly as she slowly got to her feet, her back now stiff, but she rubbed it with both of her hands. She was still dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, the clothing now wrinkled beyond recognition.

She went over to the small radio that was sitting on the stand next to her still broken television set. I've got to get that thing repaired, she thought, but instead of paying it any further attention, she turned the radio on. Soft swells of music filled her ears as she stopped everything she was doing and started listening to the words to the song that was currently playing.

As the words filled her ears, her eyes widened.

_Don't give up_

_It's just the weight of the world_

_When your heart's heavy I_

_I will lift it for you…(1)_

Jeanette listened to the song through to the end and felt the tears brimming beneath her eyes. It was as though someone was singing that song just for her. She cast a glance towards the table where the letter she had written still lay.

Bill had told her that she needed the day for herself, and perhaps he was right. She had been so tired, but had kept working, just about wearing herself out.

Now, she had some time to herself and knew that much of it would be spent crying and healing. During the past evening, something inside of her had changed; perhaps it happened when she had written her own letter to the mysterious chocolatier. Either that, or it was her remembering how Bill had been there for her. It felt special to have a friend who would stand by her during this trying time.

Whatever the case, although she knew that there was still a great deal of sadness trapped inside of her, she did feel emotionally lighter at that moment.

As the song ended, she pulled a gingham style dress from her cabinet and retreated to the bathroom in order to take a shower.

Five minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom dressed and feeling refreshed. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, wet but at the very least, neatly combed.

She approached the counter and began to dig through the cupboard in search of something to eat. Instant coffee and frozen bagels were not going to cut it today, she thought. At that particular moment, she knew beyond any doubt that she wanted something else.

Rather than contemplating what it was she was doing, she walked over to the jar that sat in the corner and pulled out several bills. The money had been stashed in order to pay for her father's medication, but now she realized that she could now freely use it to buy food.

Pocketing the money, she walked over and picked up the letter she had written the night before. She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the envelope and smiled as she carefully placed it in the large pocket on the front of her dress right next to the money.

Next, she walked over to the radio, clicked it off, before retrieving her house key. Standing at the door, she reached for the second of two jackets and slipped it on.

She unlocked the door and started to leave, but her foot brushed against something and she looked down to see a Victorian style metal tin sitting on the ground just in front of her door. A large red ribbon was snugly wrapped around it and a card was affixed. She picked up the object and carried it inside, the door she closed firmly behind her.

She smiled as she pulled the red ribbon away and was able make out the words that were written in calligraphy on one side of it: '_Wonka's Finest_'. Where in the world did this come from? She asked herself, but carefully removed the card and opened it before reading the words:

* * *

_Hello Jeanette,_

_I heard that you were quite the expert on hot chocolate and that you were running low. I thought you might like to give this a try._

_It has not yet been released to the market, perhaps you can let me know what you think before I unleash it to the masses._

_WW_

* * *

Willy Wonka wants me to test his hot chocolate, she thought with a slight smile. This has got to be a joke, notwithstanding a very good one. Of course, there was no denying that if it was real, she definitely felt flattered by the comments, especially when she contemplated the disastrous result left over from her attempts the day before.

She placed the tin on the cabinet and put the card on the table with the letter she had received from him the day before. She was tempted to heat some milk and give the chocolate a try, but quickly opted to waiting until Bill had come to pick her up for dinner. Maybe they could both drink a cup together.

As a happy smile graced her lips, she left the flat.

* * *

_(1) You are Loved (Don't Give Up) lyrics borrowed from Josh Groban's CD, 'Awake'. A lovely song well worth a listen._


	10. Chapter 9: Lightening a Doorstep

_This chapter, I chose to call 'Lightening a Doorstep', because if you recall during the prologue, I wrote that Jeanette had sworn to never 'darken his doorstep again'. So, this is just my playing a bit with the language._

_Otherwise, things are going much better now, I am feeling great now, and in the coming days I will be posting a new chapter to the other story as well. Right now I spent all day working on fixing this story. Thus, I would really appreciate reviews on it. This is a time consuming process and I could be doing other stuff with my time._

_So, with that said, please read and review._

_Edited April 9, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 9: Lightening a Doorstep**

The sun was shining high in the sky when Jeanette left the apartment building several minutes later. The street was damp from the rain shower that had descended on the city the day before, but there was a sort of clean crispiness left over from it. The sky overhead was bluer than she had seen in months. In fact, there as a sort of lightness in everything around her. It was as though the entire city was feeling about as good as she felt.

She walked towards the corner deli and entered; the fragrance of pastries and other sweets filing her nostrils. Sighing with contentment, she approached the counter and looked at the woman who was standing and waiting for her order. "Hello, Jeanette, do you want the usual bagel and cream cheese?"

"No, not today, I'd really like a chocolate muffin and a cup of your hazelnut coffee," she said as she dropped some coins in the small dish that was on the counter.

The woman counted out the money and gave her some change before setting about to getting her order.

"How have you been?" She asked as she poured some coffee into a cup and began adding the hazelnut flavor.

"I've had better days, Cathy, but things are looking up again," she said honestly.

"That's good," Cathy said as she put the plate and a cup on the glass counter. "Well, enjoy your coffee, I brewed it myself."

"I'm sure it'll be great, as always," Jeanette said as the woman retreated to the back room. Instead of speaking, she grabbed her order and waded her way through tables and chairs and seated herself at her favorite table in the back corner. Once she was comfortable, she reached for the cream pitcher so as to add a generous amount to the swirling dark brown liquid in the cup.

Once she had returned it to the table, a voice broke through into her thoughts. "Jeanette Waters, is that you?"

"Yes?" She raised her head and turned around as if to address the woman who had spoken her name. As she made eye contact, she knew that she had seen this person, but could not clearly figure out where specifically they had met. She knew Cathy because they had been acquaintances in school before she had to quit; but this woman was nothing more than a stranger to her.

The woman seated herself at the table, a cappuccino cup in her hands and a smile crossing her face. She looked to be about the same age as Bill, but Jeanette watched as she reached for the sugar bowl and began to add a generous amount to her cup.

"My goodness, you are a sight for sore eyes," she spoke as she brought the cup to her lips and Jeanette immediately noticed a bright orange colored lipstick stain on the rim as she returned it to the saucer.

"I know I've seen you before, but I can't place you right now," Jeanette offered apologetically. "It's been one of those days."

"I would say we know each other quite well, I taught you tenth class English," the woman said.

"You're Ms. Richardson?" Jeanette said as recognition dawned on her and the woman nodded. "I'm sorry, I've been kind of in a daze these last few days. This is amazing, how are you?"

"Quite well," she said.

"Are you still teaching at the school?" Jeanette asked.

"No, actually, I left there about four years ago. Now, I spend much of my time trying to help with the adult literacy program."

"Teaching people to read?" Jeanette asked. When the older woman nodded, she continued. "I read about something like that in the paper some days ago, but I didn't know that you were involved in it."

"Yes, the program has been doing quite well for the last few years," she said. "I have also taken it upon myself to help adults get their secondary school degrees through night classes."

Jeanette took a deep breath, all the while not certain if this was, planned or coincidental. Madeline Richardson was the type of person who would use these kinds of tactics to get more students into her classes. She wondered if this woman had actually known of her circumstances before coming over and speaking to her. Instead of taking a confrontational stance in this regard, she nodded. "Sounds interesting."

"So, tell me whatever happened to you?" The woman asked. "I always thought that you were going to become a world famous writer someday. I don't recall seeing you at the five year reunion last year, how have you been?"

"I didn't go to the reunion because I had to drop out of school," Jeanette said honestly. "My father had gotten sick and couldn't work anymore. I had to start working in order to support him."

"That must have been difficult," Madeline said, a skeptical look crossing the older woman's face. Several minutes of silence passed, but eventually the teacher continued speaking as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "I read about your father in the paper," she said. "Did you write the little remembrance about him?"

"Yes, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to write," she admitted. Instead of allowing herself to get teary-eyed, she took another sip of the coffee as stoic silence descended over her.

After several minutes had lapsed, Madeline pulled a small business card from the pocket of her coat. "If you are interested, you could perhaps sign up for one of my classes. Have you considered possibly trying to go back to school?"

"I haven't thought about it actually," she admitted. "I just got another job, and will be training for that. I don't know how much time I will actually have, but I will definitely think about it. Maybe, I can call you in a few days and let you know what I decide to do."

Madeline nodded. "It's not a bad idea, Jeanette, and you can use the credits from any class you take to get an equivalent of a secondary school degree." At that moment, she stood up all the while reaching for her cup of coffee. "You take care, and I was really sorry to hear about your father's passing."

"Thank you," Jeanette responded. She stared for several minutes down at the card that her former teacher had slipped into her hand. She took a sip of her coffee and smiled weakly. Maybe there was a way to put right the wrongs that have taken place in my life after all, she thought. She carefully placed the card in the pocket of her jacket before reaching for the muffin and taking a bite of it.

"She's not the most subtle person in the neighborhood, is she?" Cathy's voice suddenly emerged.

Jeanette swallowed the bite and turned around before looking up at the girl who had come from behind the counter and started washing several of the tables. "She never was," she mused.

"Just so you know, I didn't tell her anything about you coming in here," Cathy said as she ran her hand through her curly black hair. "She just happens to stop by here rather frequently."

"She probably saw me coming anyway, especially since I've spent quite of bit of time here," Jeanette said. "It seems that gossip about people's hardships tend to travel fast, much faster than the good things that happen."

"So, how have you been doing?" Cathy asked. "I mean; all of this has got to be pretty hard for you."

"I'm alright, I quit working at the laundry house," she said as she took a sip of the coffee. "Actually that's not exactly true, my friend, Bill got me fired."

"Bill? We didn't go to school with any Bill," Cathy said. Instead of continuing with her work, she sat down across from Jeanette and propped her chin in her hands. "Tell me all about him."

"Well, there's not a lot to tell, I just met him a few days ago, he's several years older than us, quite tall with curly hair and blue eyes," she said.

"Oh him," Cathy nodded as she broke into a bright smile. "If he's the guy I'm thinking of, then you nabbed yourself quite a catch. A guy that matched that description stopped in last night for an espresso. He was very polite, and wow, those eyes of his, you could get lost at sea gazing into eyes like that."

"Cathy, every guy who comes in here probably does that to you," Jeanette giggled. "Of course, meeting someone here is probably much easier than it was at the laundry house."

Cathy smirked. "Yeah, so?"

"So basically, nothing's changed since we were in school," Jeanette said, a small laugh emerging. "You're still as crazy about guys as I remember."

"The person who changed was you," Cathy's expression suddenly went earnest. "You changed a lot, Jen, and it's been so hard watching you go through all of these things alone. If this Bill person can help you find your way back to your friends, then, I say, let him." She reached across the table and touched Jeanette's hand.

"I will, but it was a hard time, Cathy, and I didn't want everyone to know about it or feel burdened by it," she said.

"Perhaps, but we still did. We noticed it from the start," Cathy said. "Besides, you said it yourself, people's hardships tend to travel fast."

Jeanette finished her coffee but looked at Cathy. "It's nice to realize that I still do have friends around here."

"Just don't forget it," she said as the sound of her name being called abruptly filled the room and she smiled. "That's my brother, Brad, he works part time at the marina as a fog horn." She giggled as she grabbed the small bucket from the neighboring table and started back towards the counter. "Don't be a stranger, Jen."

As Cathy made her way back to the front of the deli, Jeanette nodded. "I won't," she whispered. "Not ever again."

* * *

After Jeanette had finished eating the muffin and drinking the coffee, she got to her feet and started to walk towards the door leading outside. Running into Ms. Richardson and talking to Cathy had been nothing short of a stroke of luck. Although, the young woman had started to believe that the teacher had planned everything that way anyway.

Coming outside, she could see that the streets were full of people, many of them perhaps on their lunch break. She slowly made her way, her eyes scanning the area along the promenade in the direction of Willy Wonka's factory.

From any spot in that particular part of town, one could see the factory. It seemed to loom over the city as though a protective shadow. She had never really thought about that in relation to the factory, yet somehow it seemed to leave that sort of essence about her.

She was not quite certain what she was going to do once she had delivered her letter. She was exhausted, but figured that it was the mere result of having slept sitting up. Any concerns that she might have had about it were quickly dismissed.

Of course, the prospect of returning to her flat seemed out of the question, because she felt increasingly lonely and isolated there. Jeanette knew that she really needed to go to the market as well and get stocked up on food.

Even with her current schedule and dinner engagements, it was quite embarrassing to have only soup to offer if guests were to happen by. Not to mention the necessity of getting the flat cleaned up.

Along with that, her father's clothing and personal effects still needed to be sorted through. She was starting to ponder whether or not Bill, or even Dennis, might be willing to help her with this. She simply could not imagine undertaking this particular chore all by herself.

Her thoughts were still raking havoc on her as she reached the front gate to the factory. The large sign that read 'Wonka' looked as though it was glistening in the sunshine. The water from the evening rain shower had dissipated, but still the iron gate looked as though it was glowing in the sunlight.

On one side, she could see the unobtrusive letter box. She pulled the peach colored envelope from her pocket and stared down at it for several minutes. Casually, she approached the box, yet instead of dropping it in, she found herself staring up at the factory, her eyes taking in every aspect of the place. She had never noticed it before, in fact, during the years of her father's illness, she always seemed to describe it as being callous and unforgiving.

Today, there was an almost empty sort of emotion that seemed to surround it. When Jeanette stopped to contemplate it, all she felt was this strange mixture of downheartedness and isolation. Both emotions literally enfolded her as she stared at the group of buildings. If truth were known, she had no idea why she was even feeling this way, and yet, there was something about it that seemed to be drawing her in.

"Locked away from the world in this large and mysterious place," she whispered under her breath as she shook her head. "It must be so lonely for him."

She ran her hands along the metal gate, her thoughts drifting. Although her father had met Mr. Wonka, there was something almost human about the chocolatier. Instead of contemplating this further, she dropped the letter inside the mailbox.

As she once more lowered the flap, she could not help but wonder what Willy Wonka was like in person, what sort of individual he was. It seemed out of the ordinary for him to send her hot chocolate or even write her a letter offering financial assistance, yet that was exactly what had transpired.

Was it possible that her father had known the chocolatier far better than he had let on? Contrary to the new feelings that had arisen in her about the reclusive tycoon, her mind now felt as though it was completely consumed with questions about him.

Raising her head, she could see the sign that flashed the name 'Wonka' on and off. As each letter illuminated, she sank deeper and deeper into her thoughts.

By the time she opened her eyes again, fifteen minutes had lapsed and she was still standing at the iron gate, her body practically leaning up against it. Had she fallen asleep during this time? She pondered. She was tired, there was no question in her mind about that, but yet, she was still standing, her hands holding tightly to the bars that separated the courtyard from the streets of London.

"Hello, Jeanette, fancy meeting you here." A familiar masculine voice suddenly emerged causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. Upon seeing her jump, he continued speaking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

She smiled slightly when she saw that Willy was standing next to the gate. He was leaning up against the wall that extended beside it, a casual smirk lining his handsome features. Taking in his appearance, she noticed that he was dressed in a similar fashion as the day before. Instead of being dressed in jeans, however, he was now dressed in beige colored slacks and a blue dress shirt. She could not help but notice that the shirt seemed to bring out dynamic color of his eyes.

Instead of paying that too much mind, she frowned slightly. "Do you always make it habit of scaring people to death by creeping up behind them like that?"

"No, it's not generally a practice of mine, but in defense of my actions, you did look rather out of it," he said. "So, what brings you to this part of town?" He casually ran his hand through his hair, all the while not adding that he had been watching her from the confines of the factory. He had even seen her drop the letter in his mailbox, but because of her close proximity to it, he had not yet managed to retrieve it.

"I decided to take a walk," she responded. "I guess you could say that I had some things to take care of in this part of town." She cast a glance up at the factory, but then looked over at him. "I didn't know you lived around here."

"I have a room not too far away," he said honestly. "Until we manage to get the Cherry Street flat finished, I will be making a little commute. That is, as long as I don't have other things to contend with."

"Other things?" She asked. "What do you do?"

"I'm in marketing," he said hoping that that response would not give away too much information. "You could say that I'm kind of on holiday right now."

"And you're talking about renovating a building?" She smiled despite herself. "You have a strange way of spending your vacation time, Bill. I would think that someone like you would be in the Bahamas."

"It's not that exciting there," he smirked. "Sometimes one of the nicest ways to spend one's free time is getting to know the place where they live. Did you know that most people never see the sites around their home, but yet they know all the places to see in a strange city?"

"I never thought much about it," she confessed. "I've never been outside of England, actually."

"You haven't?" He asked.

"It's always been a dream to see what's out there," she said. "I used to think that one day I would go to all these wonderful places, but my life turned out much differently than I anticipated. I'm not complaining, but I've always been curious about what's out there beyond my own back door."

Willy smiled. "If you stay optimistic, then perhaps it will one day work out." He turned away briefly, but continued to speak. "I grew up not too far away from here, but I really do like this part of town more than any other. It's got this wonderful essence about it. How much of it have you seen?"

"Not very much, which proves your theory about having lived here for much of my life and still having seen pretty much nothing," she admitted.

"Would you like to see some of it?" He asked. "I can show you a few places right now, if you'd like."

"I'd love to, but I have so much to do today. I have to go to the market and get food. As you probably noticed, my cabinets are completely empty." She paused, but after several seconds, she looked over at him. "W-would you like to come with me to the market? Of course, I don't want to keep you if you have anything pressing to do. Maybe we can do the touristy stuff during the weekend?"

"That sounds like a good idea," he said. "Come, I know just the market, it's not too far from here and they sell the freshest vegetables in town."

Jeanette nodded and started to follow him.


	11. Chapter 10: A Happy Childhood

_I hope that you enjoy this latest installment. I don't have much to say about it, but I wish more people would review it. I know it's asking a lot, but the reviews are encouraging and I really don't want to think I've wasted my time writing this. So please humor me and review._

_Edited April 9, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 10: A Happy Childhood**

As the factory disappeared in the distance, she took a deep breath. "Bill, yesterday you told me that I could afford to buy hot chocolate, but now I don't have to."

"What do you mean?" He asked. "Does this have anything to do with you coming to the factory today?"

She nodded. "In a way. Just as I was opening my door to leave this morning, I noticed that there was a tin full of hot chocolate mix on my doorstep. When I checked the card, I noticed that Mr. Wonka had sent it. He signed it with two W's," she said, her voice sounded a strange mix between happiness and confusion. "He said that he had heard that I was an 'expert' with it. Can you imagine that? This man must have a simply remarkable sense of humor to write something like that. Anyway, this note really made me laugh."

"If it made you laugh, then perhaps the message served its purpose," he said.

"I just wonder how he could have possibly known."

"Perhaps your father told him that you liked it," Willy said.

"I don't know if Papa would write that about me. I mean; that seems rather trivial, doesn't it?" She asked.

He responded with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Instead of waiting for him to formulate some sort of response, she continued speaking. "It makes me sort of wonder what all Papa did tell him in his letter about our lives. I know that it seems wrong of me to want to know what he said, but I have pondered this, even though the letter was not addressed to me," she said.

"Maybe you should just accept this response as a measure of good will," Willy said. "Try not to read more into it than was intended."

She lowered her head. "You're right, but still, I do wonder."

"What about?"

"About whether or not my father had sort of planned it this way," she said. "Maybe he knew that this was going to happen."

Willy took a deep breath as he looked at her. She looked so hopeful, but there was still a trace of sadness lurking in her eyes. "I think that your father must have loved you so much that he wanted to make sure that you were not alone after his passing." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "I would guess that it was done so that you would not feel the loneliness that you felt before."

She smiled sadly. "Maybe, and it sounds strange to say so, but that's the part that is even better than the money." She cast a final glance back in the direction of the factory. "I still have questions but not very many answers. Why did he not tell me about what the doctor had said?"

"I don't know," he said simply. "Someone once told me that pride can often make people forget to be honest. It doesn't mean that they cease to express the emotion of love, it just means that their true feelings are overridden by the unhealthy ones."

She bit down on her lip. "Do you think that he knew that he couldn't work?"

"I think most people know when they are unable to do the things that they had grown accustomed to," he said, "but I am not going to judge your father for his decisions."

"If he did know, then it's apparent that I gave up everything for him," she said weakly. "If he had taken that money at the time all this happened, then…" her voice trailed off and she lowered her head.

"…You cannot change the past, you can only accept the present and strive to make the future the best that it can be," he said, thus interrupting her. "Don't tarnish the memories of your father by doing this to yourself. In your own time, you will discover what the truth is. Perhaps these letters will help you find a memory of him that you can live with."

She lowered her head. "Papa wasn't perfect," she mumbled.

"He was human, Jeanette," Willy responded, his voice gentle. "Sometimes we find out just how mortal a person is after they die."

"But he was my father," she rubbed her eyes.

"I know," he said, his acknowledgement simple.

When she did not respond, his own thoughts began to drift. He began to ponder whether or not his responses had emerged as cold and unfeeling. Perhaps he was responding to her in this way because of the failed relationship he had with his own father.

Abruptly, his thoughts were catapulted back to the current situation when her next words emerged. "You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"Contrary to everything that has happened, I am starting to think that maybe I should try and do something nice for Mr. Wonka."

"Why?" He asked all the while pondering why it was he had suddenly become limited to one-word questions.

"Papa always said that when someone does something nice, that it is only right for me to do something nice in return. I have no idea what I could do. I mean; Mr. Wonka has everything."

Willy looked at her upon hearing these words. His conscience was literally screaming, 'not everything', but somehow he managed to keep these emotions suppressed. The chocolatier was surprised simply because these were words that he did not expect to hear coming from her. It fact, they touched a part of him that he had not acknowledged in a very long time.

When he did not respond, she looked at him and noticed that he seemed to be lost in thought. "You think it's a really silly idea, don't you?" She eventually asked.

"It's not silly, Jeanette, it's actually one of the most generous notions I have ever heard," he managed.

She turned and looked at him. "I wrote him a letter last night after you left," she admitted.

"You did?" He asked.

"I wasn't really thinking about what I wanted to say, I just sat down and wrote whatever came to mind. I wanted to thank him for his help, but I couldn't really find the words," she said as they reached the entrance to the small farmer's market. She looked around, but not really feeling comfortable about going inside, she stopped just outside the door. "The truth is, everything seems so strange now."

"Why strange?"

"I don't know," she said all the while shaking her head. "I mean; I wrote that letter to Mr. Wonka trying to express my gratitude. Yet, all this time, I've been trying to make sense of it all. I mean; how can I expect Willy Wonka to understand me, if I don't even understand myself? These last few days have been so hard, and yet, deep down inside I almost feel as though he's trying to make them easier somehow."

Willy put his arm around her and pulled her into a half embrace. As she felt his hold on her, she pressed herself into the embrace. Her head eventually came to rest against his chest, her hands feeling the softness of his shirt. As she inhaled, she could immediately detect the soft scent of peppermint as it filled her.

She closed her eyes, all the while allowing her body to lean up against his. For several minutes, they stood in this manner, Willy practically keeping her on her feet.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice somehow breaking into her thoughts. "This was why I suggested that you needed time to grieve," he said as he felt her arms wrapping their way around him.

She nodded numbly, but said nothing. Instead, she kept her arms holding onto him until her weight completely collapsed into his hold.

Oh my God, he thought but managed to hold her body in his embrace. "Jeanette?" He spoke her name. "Have you even cried since your father's passing?"

Jeanette looked up from his embrace but shook her head, her face still pressed against his chest. "No," she whispered.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere and talk before doing the shopping," he suggested.

Instead of speaking, she offered a feeble nod.

Gently, he led her away from the market and down a secluded path that led to a nearby park.

* * *

After walking about half a kilometer, they reached a park and found a bench. Willy sat down and watched as she seated herself next to him. She still looked tired, but at least she was now able to stand on her own two feet.

He continued to watch her actions, but instead of speaking, he found himself staring at her. Her face was red and puffy as though she had been crying and the tears seemed to have dried, but this did not stop his heart from going out to her. As he watched her actions, he began to ponder the single solitary question: How could he be a good friend to her when he had yet to tell her that he was the elusive chocolatier?

He watched as she made herself comfortable by leaning over and removing the sandals from her feet. She curled her legs beneath her body and stared out across the park at the children who were playing in the distance. "They have it good, don't they?" she whispered under her breath.

"I don't know," he mused. "Not every child has a happy childhood."

"You're right, but those kids seem to be doing alright," she said as their laughter filled the air. "That's like music."

"It is one melody that I hear very rarely," he said without thinking. He took a deep breath and continued to watch the children playing, all the while trying to ignore the curious looks Jeanette was now giving to him.

After several moments, he recovered and spoke, his gaze still on the group of children. This time instead of probing the present, he touched on the past. "What was your favorite part of the playground when you were little?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't remember going to the park as much as I remembered the fair. Papa would take me to the carousel and we would ride it around and around. I always pretended that my horse was a charger who would win a big race. I would shout out, 'giddy-up' like I was a Texas cowboy. The other kids would laugh, but I didn't care. I felt like Jane Banks from the film when Mary Poppins would take her and her brother into the painting and they would ride the carousel. They would eventually leave the carousel and she would win the horse race with a plastic horse. I always loved that movie."

"I haven't seen it," he admitted.

"You haven't?" She asked, clearly surprised. "I thought everyone had seen it at least once."

The chocolatier shook his head. "I started to watch it once, but I was reminded of my father through Mr. Banks' character in the story and it made me very sad. I never could really sit down and watch the rest of it after that."

"That's why you said that not every child had a happy childhood," she whispered. "You didn't."

He shook his head. "I grew up alone for the most part. It was just my father and me. You see, the reality was my father was not very nice to me. Sometimes he would say dreadful things about or to me and I had to cope with how his words made me feel."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," he offered a brave smile. "Since we're on the subject, why don't you tell me about your childhood?"

"There is not much to tell; my father was wonderful, but our lives were not easy," she said honestly. "I guess you could say that my childhood did have a happy ending, though." She watched the children for several minutes, but then looked over at him as her next question emerged. "Did yours?"

"Did mine what?"

"Did your childhood have a happy ending?" She asked.

"I don't know, it's not over yet," he smiled with mischief now lurking in his eyes. "I will confess that I am much happier than I was back then. I remember when I was younger; I made the decision to do whatever made me happy, and not always put other people's wishes before my own. It seems selfish, I know, but I always thought that if I could be happy, then I could make others happy as well."

"It must have worked," she whispered. "Your friendship makes me very happy," she said shyly as she felt his hand taking hers. She allowed her fingers to wind their way around his. "Bill?"

"Yes?"

"Even if we did get off to a shaky start, I never got a chance to apologize to you for my behavior yesterday," she said. "I felt really badly about it."

"That's not necessary," he said.

"But I got so angry with you," she protested.

"Then just tell me why you were so angry," he responded.

"I guess it was because I was scared. I had no idea what was going to happen to me after I lost my job. I kept imagining myself living under a bridge somewhere. I guess after I left you standing with all that laundry, I only felt regret for my actions. I mean; you were right, I was working like a slave, but I was afraid to believe that I could have something better, or at the very least, different."

"You had regrets?" He asked, when she nodded he looked at her. "Don't tell me you regret no longer having to work for Mr. Franklin."

"No, that wasn't it," she said. "I hated that job. It was rather like eating something you despise and just holding your nose while you're trying to choke it down. It was simply something that had to be done. The truth is, I sat in that laundry house day after day wondering if there was ever going to be another option for me. I wondered if I would ever meet someone who could make me happy, or show me what it feels like to laugh or even smile."

"I never realized that you were in such a difficult situation," he said. "I suppose in hindsight, I was out of line for having charged in there like I did and force my work ethics onto you as well as the other people there."

Jeanette looked at the ground. "I don't think it was you. I probably looked rather pathetic anyway."

"No, you looked as though you were carrying a great deal of sadness and pain inside," he said honestly.

She looked at him. "You're very honest," she whispered. "I mean; you somehow give me the courage to be honest with myself."

'Honest', this word jarred Willy to the core. I'm not as honest as you think, dear lady, his thoughts seemed to be screaming at him. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders and spoke. "I don't know about that, I simply wanted to understand how you felt."

Instead of responding immediately to his words, she simply looked at him. His face carried a distanced feeling to it, and she finally reached over and touched his shoulder. "Bill, is there something the matter? I mean; are you thinking about your childhood again?"

"No," he said, but deep inside, the chocolatier was starting to feel ill at ease about the extent of the woman's insightfulness. "Don't worry about me."

"But isn't that what friends do?" She asked weakly. "I brought up that stupid film and reminded you of something that made you unhappy. I didn't realize that my words would leave that kind of impact on you."

"You didn't," he affirmed. He reached over and patted her hand gently.

"I guess I'm sort of new to this whole friendship thing, but I don't want to be the one who gets all the comfort and help, I want to return it as well." She closed her eyes, her head lowering.

"You are, I mean; you have," he said as he looked at her. Instead of speaking further, he took her hand in his.

He watched her for several moments his thoughts drifting, this time they were centered on her. They were friends, but he could not help but ponder if they could become more. Not only that, but he questioned what would change once she would find out the whole truth. "Don't ever believe otherwise."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'll try not to," she said, a small smile on her face as she glanced across the park, her gaze once more on the factory in the distance. "Bill, something else did happen today."

"What?"

"I ran into one of my former teachers at the deli before I went to the factory to deliver the letter," she said. "Although she was a little bit nosy, she was always a nice teacher. She encouraged me to do creative writing. Anyway, she gave me her card and said that I could go back to school if I wanted to. You know, finish up where I left off. She offers classes during the evenings, and I could work towards a secondary school degree. It wouldn't take very much time, perhaps half a year." She took a deep breath. "It's weird how things are starting to come together. It's as though the past events can be changed and corrected."

"That's wonderful news," he said. "I'm happy for you, but you seem hesitant about accepting."

"No, I'm not just hesitant about this; I wonder what to expect or what's going to happen. I mean; there is no question that it would make getting future jobs a lot easier," she said. "I just keep thinking that when the assistance ends, I will have to stand on my own two feet and find work. There won't be any more excuses and no one to blame except for myself. I just know that I don't want to have to go back to the laundry house."

"That's understandable," he said. "I would hope that you would not do that either. I cannot imagine someone like you sorting buttons for the rest of her life." He stood up. "Shall we go? The market awaits."

He offered her his arm and once she had accepted, she got to her feet, put her sandals back on, and they left the park.


	12. Chapter 11:  Willy Wonka's Response

_Author's Notes: Thanks first of all to all my reviewers who have lovingly rekindled the motivation for me to continue posting chapters to this story._

_Canangelscry, you are just amazing not just as a reader and reviewer, but also writer. (I'm still gushing over your current story.) I am so grateful to you for giving this story a read through and giving me such nice reviews about it! I am posting this update in the hopes that the insomnia goes away (I hate it when I can't sleep!). I'm glad you related to the characters in the story, to me, being able to relate to original characters makes them seem more real._

_LA Suka, again thanks so much for the reviews, and I am glad that you don't think I'm wasting my time with this. I have enjoyed writing all of these chapters, and I totally love your enjoyment. _

_YA YA, to you my sincerest thanks for the comments as well. I am feeling really good about this story now, and hope that you enjoy this latest installment._

_As always, reviews are always appreciated. My other story will be updated in the coming days._

_Edited April 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 11: Willy Wonka's Response**

En route to the market, they passed by a number of small businesses, one of which was a candy shop. It looked as though school had let out and the children were flocking to the place for their afternoon snacks. Willy and Jeanette watched as the kids stormed through the door and into the shop.

"How about a candy bar?" Willy offered.

"That sounds wonderful," she said. "I guess I spent all my time taking care of Papa that I didn't really think about going out and getting one."

"Then I'll get us one, wait here," he said and disappeared into the shop. She continued to watch as the children flocked to the small quaintly decorated business. She could hear their excited chatter as they spoke about Wonka bars and Golden Tickets.

Funny, she thought, I never really thought much about it. She waited for several minutes until Willy came back outside.

"They were out of Wonka bars," he explained and her eyes caught the shimmering wrapper of a purple colored bar. "If you wanted something specific, I could go back and get something else."

"No it's alright," she said. "I guess everyone's sold out because of the Golden Tickets. I actually heard someone talking about this at the laundry house several days ago and I thought about going and buying one to get my mind off of things. Seems stupid to think that a candy bar can do that."

"Well, seeing as you may presently be a bit partial, maybe we can just share it and I will see what I can find when I get home. I tend to keep a supply of chocolate lying around," he said smiling secretly.

They walked across the marketplace until they found a place to sit down and he unwrapped the candy. "I actually got this kind because it was the first candy I ever tried." He handed her a piece of the chocolate and she stuck it in her mouth.

Once she had swallowed, she looked at him. "How old were you?" She asked.

"Let's see, it was thirty years ago, so I was about seven-years-old," he said. "My father was not keen on the idea of my eating candy, but growing up, I was rather partial to chocolate."

"I never really ate a lot of candy," she said. "I don't regret it, but sometimes, just for kicks, I go to the store and buy children's cereals because I couldn't have them when I was growing up."

"You do?" He asked.

"It's silly to admit it, but it's true," she said. "I would buy those little packages with lots of different flavors in them. I could hide them and Papa wouldn't see them. He wouldn't have been angry, but he would have teased me about it." As these words hung in the air, she took a deep breath; her next words were on an entirely different topic. "You're thirty-seven?"

"Yes, I just had my birthday a few weeks ago," he said.

"How did you celebrate?" She asked. "Did you have a party?"

"No, it was just a small gathering," he said. "Some friends of mine made dinner. They heard that I liked filet mignon and surprised me with it." He smiled as he recalled the day and how special it was. It had indeed been a pleasant celebration, too. He wanted to elaborate on this, but opted to keep any further remarks to himself.

"You're 13 years older than me," she mumbled more to herself than to him.

"Age is a state of mind," he said as he looked at her, his gaze intent.

"Maybe," she said. "I never really paid that much attention to my birthdays. My mother died giving birth to me and Papa was always sad on my birthday. I guess I came to realize that there comes a certain amount of guilt with it."

"Is that what your father said?" Willy asked.

She shook her head. "No, Papa never would say something that cruel. It was always this strange feeling I had about it. Then soon after I turned twenty-three and he got really sick, I started thumbing through papers and found my mother's death certificate. It said something to the effect of 'complications of child delivery'. I basically put two and two together."

"Did you ever ask your father about it?" Willy asked.

"How could I? Papa had taken ill and to talk about that would have destroyed him, so I just kept it to myself," she smiled slightly. "It hurt at first, but it made things so much clearer. I did see pictures of my mother though, and she was really pretty, had long flowing brown hair and green eyes. Papa said that her eyes looked like emeralds, but I think that he only said that because he was so in love with her."

"Do you think that love makes people see beauty in another that the rest of the world doesn't see?" He asked.

"I don't know, I've never really been in love, so I can't say for certain," she admitted. "But, I believe that my mother's eyes were something that one had to really see in order to appreciate," she said, and looked at him.

"Perhaps, but maybe you can appreciate that part of yourself by looking at your reflection in a mirror," he said honestly.

Jeanette looked away. "Papa once said that I had my mother's eyes, but then he said that it was sometimes hard to even look at me because I looked so much like her."

"That must have been painful for you," he said.

"It was," she said, but did not elaborate. Instead, she accepted some more of the candy that he had offered and stuck it in her mouth. "Maybe we should have just opted to having the cocoa," she mused. "This candy doesn't taste all that great."

"This coming from a lady who heats chocolate milk and serves it as cocoa," Willy said coyly, but offered a concurring nod.

"I tried," she pouted.

"I know," he smiled, but instead of speaking further, he looked at her, his gaze now intent. "You know something?"

"What?"

"I am really glad I met you," he said.

"You are?" She asked, and her voice emerged as though she was much younger than twenty-four.

"Yes, I am," he said sincerely. "But, I think before it gets too late in the day, we really should get your shopping done. I still have a few things to take care of before we meet tonight."

She nodded and got to her feet and the two of them continued on their way to the market.

* * *

The afternoon after Willy and Jeanette had done the shopping, Willy dropped her off at her building and he returned to the factory. As he collected the mail from the box outside, he entered the side door and was met by one of the Oompa Loompas.

"How was your afternoon?" The orange-faced man asked. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Very much, Kai, can you arrange it so that the mail is directly dispatched to my office?" He asked. When the worker nodded, he released a pent up sigh. "Thank you, it was starting to feel a bit risky for me to go out each day and collect it. Now that the Golden Tickets are starting to be found, it will be even more so."

"Yet, you still intend to follow through with this plan?" the Oompa Loompa asked.

"I will only be living for a very short time on Cherry Street, I have already asked Mr. Wilkenson to act as a liaison," Willy said. "Did he already talk to you?"

"Yes, Mr. Wonka, he explained that you would be helping the young people to fix up the old candy shop. Did you not require our assistance in the matter?"

"Oh my friend, generally I would have asked you to help, but this is something that I fear I must do on my own. I am finding myself drawn to this place, to the new friends that I have found outside of the factory. Jeanette Waters is nothing that I imagined her to be. She's a kind woman, and very caring."

"You are quite fond of this young lady, are you not?" The Oompa Loompa asked.

"Yes, I am becoming quite fond of her," he said. "I still do feel empathy for her, but there's something else about her that I find strangely appealing."

"What is that, Sir?"

"I can't really explain," he said.

"No matter. You did express yesterday morning when I drafted your first letter, that you had no idea what sort of person she was," the Oompa Loompa responded. "From looking at you, I have noticed that you have learned a great deal about this girl."

Willy opened the envelope and pulled out the peach colored piece of paper. He unfolded the letter and read through it before handing it to his devoted worker. "I have, but perhaps you will better understand if you have a look at this. This letter is indicative of the sort of person she is."

Kai accepted the letter and began to read it. When he finished, he handed it back to the chocolatier. "That is a beautifully written letter. How shall you respond?"

"I don't know," he said. "I want to write something much more personal than the letter we composed yesterday, but I am not sure what to write. After sending her the cocoa, I am afraid that if I write too much, that she will get suspicious of my alias, and I would like to get to know her better before I tell her everything."

"You do care for her," The Oompa Loompa said.

"I think that assumption is a bit premature, don't you?" He asked, his face flushing. Once he recovered, he looked at Kai. "I will be leaving the factory at around six. Could you arrange a table at the 'Carlotta Club' for us for tonight at about eight? Please reserve it under the name William Thompson."

"Of course," the Oompa Loompa said.

For his part, Willy made his way down the hall towards his office. Once he had reached the strangely decorated room, he went inside and closed the door behind him. He wanted to write another letter to Jeanette before getting ready to go out and meet her for dinner, but he had no idea what to write to her. She had confided so much in him, but most of that was to Bill. He pulled out the letter she had written and read through the words a second time.

After several minutes, he picked up a pen and instead of using a letterhead, he grabbed a piece of paper from the notepad that he always used to write down his candy ideas. He tapped the pen against the piece of paper, but after several seconds, he began to write:

* * *

_Dear Jeanette,_

_I received your letter, and was quite happy and surprised that the assistance I offered reaped something that could be construed as comfort. I am still deeply sorry that my letter had to come in the wake of such a tragedy and loss. As Robert Frost once said: 'in three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.' It is perhaps not the most comforting thought that exists, but it is indeed a valid one. I hope that you have found the solace and comfort through your friends._

_It took me a great deal of time and thought to remember that I had met your father on one brief occasion. He was attending a picnic here and he had introduced himself to me. I can truthfully say that I came to recognize him as not only a good man, but also a loyal and dedicated worker._

_As for your job loss, I was sorry to hear of it happening so soon after the tragedy that has already touched your life. I remain hopeful that more happy times will return to you. One can only shed so many tears before the dawn of the new day comes. I wish for you many happy days._

_Take care dear lady, and do enjoy the hot chocolate. During rainy and cold days, as London is rather prone to having, I too enjoy a cup now and again as well._

_Yours sincerely,_

_WW_

* * *

He looked over the letter and smiled at the words he had written. All he would have to do is get the letter to Thelma before arriving at Jeanette's door that evening.

Raising his head, he looked at the clock that was now on the wall. It was nearly five, and he still had to get ready for his dinner engagement. Although Jeanette had said something in relation to a date, he was not quite certain that this was the word he wanted to use in describing it. A brief smile shadowed his face. Perhaps that is what the Oompa Loompas would call it, but he still preferred to use the time to get to know her.

Standing up, he decided to go and check his cabinets for something to wear. It had been a long time since he had dressed up in clothes that people might consider normal attire for dinner. He felt rather odd trying to dress in clothing that was clearly not his style, but he also knew that in this case he had no choice in the matter.

Reaching his rooms, he smiled when he found a suit and tie hanging on the door. He picked up the hanger and stared down at the dark blue colored suit that hung from it.

He ran his fingers over the fabric and took a deep breath. This was not too bad, he thought as he went over to his closet and removed a white long-sleeved shirt.

Turning back around he took a deep breath. This was going to be an interesting evening. If truth were known, Willy had not anticipated going out and meeting her when she had delivered her letter, but something had compelled him to.

Perhaps he had not gotten a great deal accomplished that day, but the early afternoon with Jeanette Waters had proven insightful.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Willy was dressed in the slacks and white shirt and was beholding his reflection in the mirror. He had managed to wash and tame down his hair, which was still damp, but at least manageable. He took a deep breath as he ran his hand down over his shirt, his gaze still on the reflection in the mirror.

Finally, he picked up the tie and managed to affix it around his neck. "This isn't me," he eventually muttered as he tossed it across the room. "I'm starting to loose myself in all of this." He stared for several minutes with disdain down at the tie that was now snaked across his bed.

"How much longer must I insist on playing these silly games?" He asked the stillness. He took a deep breath and snatched up the tie and affixed it to the top of his shirt. Turning away from the mirror, he grabbed the jacket from off the bed and pulled it on.

This time, he did not stop to cast a glance in the mirror. He somehow felt like another person, and this simply gave him a cold gnawing sensation in his stomach.

"Was helping Jeanette Waters really worth all of this?" He spoke, his voice filled with harsh undertones.

What he did not expect was for his face to suddenly feel hot, as though his emotions were now on a downward spiral. Suddenly, he felt as though he was cursing through his own chocolate river on a boat that had careened far out of his control.

This frightened him beyond recognition, as he was so accustomed to being in control of everything. Now, he was starting to realize that what had started out as a mere curiosity, it was now gripping him, thus causing him to feel something, but he was still not all that certain as to what that something was.

Shaking his head, he started towards the door, the letter still in his hand. He had started playing two roles; now he had no choice but to go through with it.


	13. Chapter 12: The Dinner Engagement

_Hi everyone,_

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. Just in case no one noticed, LA Suka (and anyone else who is pondering my level of insanity), I positively live for irony and I find little situations like that to be totally delicious. Of course, most of us know who Willy is through the stories, but since he has lived as a virtual recluse, no one in the outside world really knows what he looks like or contemplates his being out and about, so I played that angle to the hilt._

_Canangelscry, thanks again for the review. You are free to imagine any Wonka you want for this story. Although I do make mention of Willy's hair and eyes quite often, I figure that there is nothing that is disallowed when it comes to your imagination or my stories. So, imagine away, and enjoy. Thanks again for reading. I'm glad you enjoy this._

_YA YA, yeah, I had to come up with a dish that I thought he would like. I had actually contemplated making him vegetarian and perhaps he would have been fun as one. Then I got to thinking that it might be too limiting for me to write him in later chapters, so I axed the idea and decided to make him a bit more accommodating in that regard. I figured that in dealing with other people as you will see in this chapter. I didn't want to write myself into a corner, and even though he is a chocolatier, being in such great shape as he is, then he could not possibly live on chocolate. _

_Enjoy the latest chapter, and pretty please with gumdrops on top…review!_

_Edited April 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 12: The Dinner Engagement**

It was half past six when Jeanette finished dressing for dinner. She stood staring into the mirror, the dress she chose hanging limply from her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a moment, only to open them and see the skinny, malnourished girl who stared back at her. She had tried a number of home remedies to put some color back into her cheeks, and had even tried washing her hair with egg whites to give it some luster, but everything she attempted seemed to fail miserably.

There was no question remaining in her mind, her exhaustion was now catching up with her. Physically, she felt terribly sick, but she was not ready to cancel on an evening she had been anticipating all day.

She sighed deeply, all the while feeling rather like the ugly stepsister in a fairy tale. He'll take one look at me and laugh, she thought grimly. How could he not? Bill was so good looking, and she was homely at best.

It was not that she really spent a great deal of time focusing on how she looked, but her entire body was famished, and she felt like the poster child for the 'London Anorexic Hotline'. She could not stop asking herself how it was that someone as attractive as him would offer to have dinner with her. Date or no, Jeanette was thoroughly convinced that he could be dating movie stars, not spending his free time hanging around with her.

She cast another sideways glance in the mirror. Her father had always said that nothing that God created was ugly, but that still did not cover up the fact that she did not carry the grandest vision of herself. Her body was worn out from the work she had subjected it to and after having lived the last year on soup, it was starting to take its toll on her. Since her father had gotten sick, she had lost about ten kilograms.

Carefully, she raked the comb through her hair, but was surprised when a clump of it came out into the teeth. She took a deep breath. "This is not good," she whispered grimly as she touched a small patch of thinning hair that lined one side of her head. "Maybe I could wear a hat…" she muttered, her face now flushed with nervous anticipation.

Before she could say or do anything else, the doorbell chimed and she cast a final glance in the mirror before leaving the room.

She approached the front door and opened it half expecting to see that Bill had arrived early, but instead, she looked into the eyes of Thelma Jenkins.

"Hello dear, my you look lovely," the older woman said. "I think the post carrier is getting a bit scatterbrained, he dropped this in my box by mistake." She handed a white colored envelope to Jeanette.

"It's another letter," Jeanette whispered, but instead of elaborating, she backed up and allowed her neighbor access to the flat.

"You alright dear?" She asked noticing the pale face of the young woman. When Jeanette nodded, she impulsively reached over and pressed her wrist against Jeanette's forehead. "You're quite feverish," she mused.

"I-I'm alright," Jeanette muttered. "Mrs. Jenkins, did you see who delivered the letter?"

"No, I didn't, I assumed that it was the mailman," she said.

"But it wasn't, it couldn't have been," Jeanette objected, all the while trying to swallow the lump that lodged itself in the back of her throat. "This letter has no postage on it." She opened the envelope and pulled out its contents. Once she had read through the letter, she looked at her neighbor and spoke, her voice, by this time, reaching a fevered pitch. "The letter came from Willy Wonka. He answered the letter I left for him this morning at the factory."

The neighbor reached out and touched the younger woman's shoulder, concern shadowing the older woman's face. "Maybe you should sit down and try to calm yourself a bit. If you get worked up, you could run the risk of getting sicker."

Jeanette backed away from the neighbor and did as the woman suggested. She seated herself at the table and lowered her head. "If Willy Wonka delivered this letter, then he must have done it in secret. Chances are, he doesn't even want to see me."

Thelma came over to where she was sitting and took a seat across from her. "Dear, read it again and rest assured that a man would not write you if he didn't feel compelled to do so. For heaven's sake, you really shouldn't talk such rubbish. Why on earth would he not want to see you?"

"I was angry with him," she covered her face with her hands. "It was because of everything that happened with Papa."

Thelma got up and walked around the table so that she could rest her hands on Jeanette's thin shoulders. When she felt this, Jeanette turned around and practically collapsed against the hold her neighbor had on her. It was clear that her body was weak, but it seemed apparent that she did not even have to ask the older woman to hold her.

"Now dear," the older woman said, thus causing her to raise her head slightly. "I want you to be honest with me, do you hear?"

Jeanette nodded mutely.

"How much have you had to eat today?" Thelma asked sternly.

"I woke up and had a cup of coffee and a chocolate muffin," she whispered. "Then I had a little chocolate in the park."

"And you haven't had anything else?"

Jeanette shook her head. "I didn't even try because I figured that I wouldn't be able to keep anything down. I'm supposed to go with Bill to have dinner, but right now I feel terrible."

"You've spent the last few weeks trying to take care of yourself, your father, and hold up a job. It is really no wonder your energy has given out. You've been running literally on adrenaline and a prayer," she said. "Why didn't you come to me or Milton? We would have done everything we could to help you."

Jeanette looked into the eyes of the older woman. "I always thought you and Mr. Jenkins were just Papa's friends. I didn't want to disturb you with my problems."

"We would have helped you," she said. "You should know that."

Jeanette closed her eyes, but stared down at the table. "Mrs. Jenkins…"

"…Call me Thelma dear, you're much too old to be calling me by a surname," she said as she brushed an aged hand through Jeanette's hair. "Now, how did you wear yourself out today?"

"I walked to the chocolate factory and then ran into my friend, Bill. We ended up walking a pretty fair distance and then I got home this afternoon and unpacked the groceries," she said.

"Without eating," Thelma said gently. "For whatever reason that may exist, you have been practically starving yourself to death. Now, I'm going to make you something to eat and I don't want to hear any arguments about it."

"But what about Bill, and dinner?" She asked weakly.

"If Bill really cares for you, then he will understand that you are not well," she said as the doorbell chimed once again. "Now, you just sit tight and let me take care of this." She walked over to the door and opened it.

When she saw Willy standing on the other side, she smiled up at him. "Jeanette's sick, she's not going to be able to go to a restaurant tonight. She's not been taking care of herself since probably before her father passed away."

Willy hesitantly came into the flat. When he saw Jeanette, he nodded. "You're quite right, Ma'am."

"I'll be right back, I'm going down the hall to get a few things for dinner," she said. "Keep an eye on her, and make sure she doesn't overexert herself."

"Alright." He nodded, but walked over to where the young woman was sitting at the table, her face resting in her hands. Slowly, he sat down next to her, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me this afternoon that you weren't well?"

Jeanette raised her head, but instead of speaking lowered it again. "Because I felt fine when you dropped me off. I just started feeling badly while I was getting dressed."

Willy reached over and touched her face. "You really are sick, Jeanette, you need rest and something to eat."

She closed her eyes as she felt his gentle touch to her face. "You've been so kind," she whispered as she leaned into the touch. Unhappy tears began to stream from beneath her eyes. "I'm sorry, Bill."

"No need to be sorry," he said, but without thinking about what he was doing, he carefully began to brush her hair out from in front of her face.

"But our dinner," she whispered as the front door opened and Thelma came into the living room. When she heard Jeanette's last words, she smiled at him.

"I don't think that she intended to cancel on you, I pretty much pushed the issue myself," Thelma said as Willy turned to see that her arms were loaded down with vegetables and meat. "I suppose this means that I will make you both something to eat now."

Willy nodded. He was quite glad that Thelma was there to take care of Jeanette, and for what it was worth, he was also rather relieved that they didn't have to go into a crowded restaurant that night. "May I use the phone?" He asked.

"Sure, it's over there," Jeanette muttered with a slight wave of her hand.

Willy spotted it and went over to the telephone and placed the call to the restaurant in order to cancel the reservation. Once he had hung up, he returned to Jeanette's side. "Why don't we sit on the sofa? Maybe there's a good movie on television tonight that we could watch instead of going out."

"It's broken," Jeanette said. "I'm sorry, but with everything that has happened, I haven't found the time to call someone to come and repair it."

Thelma went over to the radio. "Then while I am getting something on the stove, we can listen to some music. Your radio isn't broken, I heard it just this morning out in the hallway."

Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to it and turned it on, the music abruptly filling the room. As she did that, Willy stood up and helped his friend over to the sofa.

As soon as she was comfortably leaning against the pillows, she closed her eyes. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused."

Willy took a deep breath, "You have no reason to be sorry, and please do stop apologizing to me. It's not necessary, Jeanette. If you want to know the truth, I prefer being here to going into a crowded restaurant."

"You've been listening to me get weepy and sad since the first moment we met. I wish I could show you that I'm not always sick, unhappy, or melancholy."

He reached over and took her hand, a small smile covering his face as he offered it a gentle squeeze. "A true friend accepts all parts of a person. It is not just about you being sad. All the things that make up who you are have been affected by the events in your life." He moved his hand and touched her face. "I think no less of you for that. But, I want to see you get healthy again, and feel good about yourself, as well."

"It's going to take some time for me to get used to this," she said.

"I know," he said. "That's what it means to have friends. I'll tell you what, if I get sick, I'll ask you to come and make chicken soup for me, d'accord?"

"Huh?"

"It's French, dear, he's asking you if that meets your approval?" Thelma said.

"Yes," she said, but looked up at him. "You speak French?"

"Only a little, but I also speak some German, and quite a bit of Latin," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

"Where did you learn it?" She asked.

"Nowhere specific, I just picked it up and started using it," he said.

Jeanette looked at him. "Would you teach me?"

"What do you want me to teach you?" He asked.

"I don't know, teach me what you know," she said.

He chuckled, "I'm not sure I can just become a teacher, when I'd rather just be a friend."

"You can be both," she whispered, her voice sounding tired. She closed her eyes. Within minutes, she had fallen asleep.

Willy sat for several minutes just staring at her. "She's asleep," he said as he got up and went over to Thelma, who was slicing up vegetables for a stew.

"It's all the better, the poor child is just worn out," she said as she handed him a several potatoes. "Would you mind peeling these and maybe cutting them into cubes?"

"What makes you so certain that I really know my way around a kitchen?" He asked with a smirk.

"Don't be a smart mouth, just help me," she said as she grabbed a bushel of carrots. "I have to slice these carrots as well as the celery and it's a tough job for one retired old lady. Now, anymore questions?"

"I have one," he said.

"What's that?"

"Is this what it feels like to be in a family?" He asked.

She nodded as she stopped what she was doing, laid down her knife, reached over, and squeezed his shoulder. "A family is not always going to be related by blood; sometimes a family magically appears when people unconditionally love one another."

"Love?" He mumbled.

"Yes, it's not just a love that emanates from father to daughter, it comes from the heart of a person and changes them. That's why she's taken ill, her guard is lowered, and she is starting to recognize how alone she is. What she doesn't know is that not only was her life changed through this experience, but yours has been as well." She smiled warmly at him. "Milton always said that you were a good person, and seeing you take care of her, I truly believe it."

"What happened to your husband, Thelma?" He asked.

"He left early this morning to go to Liverpool to visit his brother, Matthew," she smiled, but shook her head. "They got tickets for a football match, so they are off doing that. When I tell him about what happened here, he will probably wish he had never left," she chuckled.

"You don't mind that he left you alone?" Willy asked.

"Who said I was alone? I have you and Jeanette to look after, that's hardly what I would call alone," she smiled. "Now, let's get to those potatoes so Jeanette can have some of my mother's stew in her tummy. The poor thing is as thin as a rail."

Willy nodded; this was definitely better than going to a restaurant, even though it entailed a little bit of work. "How's this?" He asked after awhile.

"You're a natural," Thelma said with a smile. "But, of course you are." She quickly added as she put the potatoes in the pot and then reached for a package of meat and opened it.

Willy watched for several minutes as she cut the meat into pieces as she had done with the carrots and celery. Once she added it to the mixture, she turned on the heat. "Is there anything else I can do?" He asked all the while trying to be helpful.

"No, that's just about got it, the stew should take about an hour to simmer, by then Jeanette should be awake and then we can eat," she said smiling. "I've got to run across the hall and grab the dessert. I seemed to have remembered all the vegetables, but forgot the final touch."

He nodded as she left once again. At that moment, he made his way over to where Jeanette lay sleeping. She's so special, he thought. It is all because of her father's letter that I have been introduced to her, and right now I feel blessed. He looked down at her sleeping form. She's given me the sense of a family.

He sat down next to where she lay, his hand, he brushed through her hair. As he did this, she shifted and slowly opened her eyes. "Bill?" She whispered when she recognized him sitting beside her and looking down at her. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep and your neighbor, Thelma, is making something substantial for us for dinner. Perhaps this is even better than a restaurant, since it's her mother's recipe," he said. "At least I don't have to wear a suit and tie here."

"You looked very nice though," she said as she sat up. "I'm only sorry that I ruined everything."

"Nonsense, you didn't ruin a thing," he said. "I prefer the quiet to noisy restaurants anyway. You should not worry about this. There will be other nights for us to go out. That is if you are willing."

Jeanette looked at him, but instead of immediately speaking, she offered him a somewhat timid nod. "I would love it."

"Good," he smiled. "Because I would too."

* * *

As Thelma predicted, the three of them were able to eat after about an hour had passed. The stew was absolutely wonderful and both Jeanette and Willy had enjoyed the meal. As the older woman pulled out the dessert, Willy found himself smiling when he recognized one of the cakes that his factory produced.

"It's is by far the best," Thelma said smiling after Jeanette had excused herself.

Willy could not help but smile as he watched her cut the cake into pieces and put them on small plates. "I really appreciate the wonderful meal, Thelma."

"It's fun to cook for people who appreciate the work that goes into it," she said as she glanced down the hall in the direction that Jeanette had gone. After several seconds, she took a deep breath and then looked directly at him, her next words practically causing him to fall out of his chair. "You're falling in love with her, aren't you?"

Willy took a deep breath. "I don't know, Thelma. I care for her, but I don't know what I feel," he said. He rubbed his face insecurely, but looked at her, his expression filled with fear. "I didn't plan it this way."

"No one ever does, dear, that's why they call it 'falling in love', because that is what it feels like, like you're falling and can't stop," she said, but got up and went over to where he was sitting. Once she was standing behind him, she placed her hands on his shoulders. "You are just as human as the rest of us, and you are not immune from feeling love towards a young woman like Jeanette."

"Perhaps, but every time I think about telling her everything, I am so afraid that she will hate me for having deceived her," he confessed. "Sometimes I feel confident that being honest is right thing, but other times I feel completely uncertain. I don't feel as though I am a very good man for doing what I have done. It is rather like I am playing two roles, and now I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize my reflection anymore. It is as though I have been changed somehow and I want nothing more than for Jeanette to look at and see me for who I really am; the man in that photograph."

"I know," she said wisely but leaned over and patted his hand before returning to her seat on the other side of the room. "You will find the courage, but for now, perhaps the thing to do is to allow yourself to understand the feelings that you have. Find out if you are in love, and then you will know beyond any doubt what you have to do."

Willy nodded, but seconds later, their conversation was interrupted when Jeanette came back into the room. She sat down next to him and looked down at the plate that was placed before her.

"This looks wonderful," she said softly as the three friends began to enjoy their dessert.

Several minutes after finishing, Thelma got to her feet and retreated into the kitchen, thus leaving the two of them alone.

"That was wonderful," Jeanette said, but her words were interrupted by a yawn.

He nodded. "Yes, it was. But, you're tired and I think I really should be going."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said. "I kind of like having you here."

"I like being here. You're a very nice person, Jeanette," he placed his hand on hers, the gentle pressure making the butterflies that were in the pit of her stomach go even crazier.

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his gaze. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she could not find the words. She wondered if the feelings she was having were sparked because she felt tired, or if the impact he was having on her was real or in her imagination.

Is this what it feels like to fall in love? She asked herself, but her gaze came to rest on the place where his hand now rested against hers. For a brief instant, she raised her head and looked at him, her gaze meeting a pair of gentle blue eyes that stared down into hers. "Bill?" She whispered his name, the single word emerging like an exhalation of breath. She eventually shifted her attention until her gaze was directed at where his hand rested atop hers.

She closed her eyes, and felt as though the world was suddenly swimming all around her. The next time she opened them, she was alone in her bedroom, the light from the new day was streaming in through her window.

Had the events of the night before been nothing more than a dream?


	14. Chapter 13: Dreaming

_Author's Note: OK, before I start this chapter, I wanted to thank the four lovely people for the reviews. Before I touch on the individual reviews, I wanted to write a little bit about the medical facts contained within this chapter. I didn't get a lot of the information through Wikipedia or other sources, I was just going on memories when I had this condition myself. Much of what Jeanette experiences here, I did about 4 years ago. Of course, I didn't have Willy Wonka around, that's the fun part of fantasy. Of course, I did have my wonderful husband, but I digress._

_LA Suka, you hit the nail on the head. Read on._

_Canangelscry, oh thanks, I'm glad you liked my date scene. I was rather fond of it too, and I did get writer's block at imagining Willy at a restaurant, especially after his thoughts in Chapter 11 about his appearance and clothing. It just seemed a perfect way to put it together. I do love Thelma, she's characterized like my grandma who always loved to cook._

_Mordrelupis, I know what you mean about there seriously not being very many Wilder Wonka stories. I am trying to write as many of them as I can get inspired to write and posting them when I can. I absolutely love Gene Wilder as Wonka, and I just think that there is such a wonderful thing about him playing Willy Wonka. I agree, I do think he did a better Willy Wonka than Johnny Depp, but that was just me. (Please all you Johnny Depp Wonka fans, don't stop reading just because I stated my opinion) The fact also remains that I also grew up watching this particular version, so I am a bit partial. _

_YA YA, thanks for the comments. I have actually tried writing an original novel, but am presently looking to find an editor. So your words are deeply appreciated. _

_Oh well, moving on, enjoy the update, and please review._

_Edited on April 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 13: Dreaming**

Two days after their dinner together, Willy decided that instead of avoiding Jeanette, that he would have to go and check in on her before going to Cherry Street to work with Dennis.

The chocolatier had not seen Jeanette since the evening that he had spent with her and Thelma. Although, he had intended on telling her how he felt, the fact that she had abruptly fallen asleep against him, rendered him unable to say anything to her.

With Thelma's help, they had managed to put Jeanette to bed and quietly leave the flat after the dinner dishes had been attended to.

The day before he had managed to call the kindly neighbor so as to inquire how Jeanette was doing. Thelma had informed him that she had spent much of her time sleeping and had voiced her sadness at not having been able to write a response to his last letter.

It was now the morning of the thirteenth, and Willy had arrived at Jeanette's building early that day and made his way up the stairs in the direction of her front door. By the time he had reached it, he rang the bell and waited for her to answer.

After several seconds, the door slowly opened and Jeanette stood in the threshold, her hands tying together the belt to her light blue bathrobe. She looked rested enough, but her face still had blotches of red and she seemed to be unsteady on her feet. "Hi, I'm late, aren't I?" She asked weakly.

"Late for what?" He asked.

"Today's the thirteenth, I'm supposed to meet you and Dennis at the house on Cherry Street," she took a deep but resigned breath. "I'll go get dressed."

She started to back away, her steps wavering, but he reached out and steadied her. "No, you're not going to work today, not when you're still sick. Let me call Dennis and tell him that we'll be there tomorrow."

"But Bill, I'm fine, I got plenty of rest yesterday," she objected. "Just wait here and I'll go and get something to put on."

Willy looked at her, but shook his head adamantly. "You can't work in this state, Jeanette. Go get dressed, I'm going to take you to a doctor and let him decide if you are capable of working." Before she could even object, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently. "I know that you're worried, but listen to me. I'm not going to fire you for being sick. Right now, you need help. You tell me, what sort of friend would I be to leave you in this state or worse yet, expect you to work when you are clearly unwell?" As he looked at her, he noticed that she merely offered a slight nod. Defeat seemed to be written all over her face. Instead of responding to that, he remained firm as he gave her a gentle shove back in the direction of her bedroom. "Now go get dressed, I'll wait for you here."

Jeanette nodded and slowly left the room. Once she had disappeared into her bedroom and the door had closed, Willy went over to the phone and picked it up. He dialed the number that patched him directly to Mr. Wilkenson's office.

When the line was picked up, he spoke. "Mr. Wilkenson, I need you to do two things for me."

"What's that, Sir?" Wilkenson asked, his high-pitched voice filling Willy's ear.

"First, call Dennis Sutherland at the Cherry Street number and tell him that I will not be coming in today. Explain that Jeanette Waters has taken ill and that I need to get her to a doctor."

"What's the second thing?"

"Contact Pauli and have him prepare a room," he said.

"You're going to bring Jeanette to the factory, Sir?" Wilkenson asked.

"I have to," he whispered, but cast a glance back towards the room where she had gone. "This is no longer important that I try to keep everything a secret, she's very sick and needs immediate attention. I should have noticed how she was doing two days ago, but I didn't. I want to bring her there so that Pauli can have a look at her."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Mr. Wilkenson asked.

"I don't know if it is or not, but it's the only option I have. I did bring some of the 'Sleeping Dust' with me, so it shouldn't be too big of a problem getting her there," he said, his words a barely audible whisper.

"Sir, you know that the 'Sleeping Dust' is still in the experimental stages. It's been tested on Oompa Loompa subjects, but never on people more than a meter high. You also know that that physiology of the Oompa Loompas is considerably different than ours. Are you sure it will work?"

"I don't know, but I can't just do nothing. We're going to have to just give it a go and hope for the best," he said. "Please, do as I ask, and if anything goes wrong, then I will accept full responsibility for it." He paused. When he heard hesitancy on the other end of the line, he continued speaking. "I know you probably think I'm crazier than usual for doing this, but I have no idea what is wrong with her. I simply know that I can't just sit idly by and watch her fall apart like this."

"Yes Sir, and not to worry, I'll take care of everything," came the swift answer and the call abruptly ended.

Once Willy hung up the phone, he waited several minutes for her to emerge from her room. When she finally did, he nodded approvingly, but dug in the pocket of his jacket and lightly touched the small vial that rested there.

"You ready to go?" He asked.

"I don't know about this," she whispered nervously. "The last time I saw a doctor, it was when he told me that Papa was dying. Bill, I'm scared."

Willy put a comforting arm around her and led her to the door. "I know, but the problem will only get worse if you allow that fear to control what you do. I promise that I will be with you through everything. I will not leave you alone to cope with any of this."

She nodded numbly and allowed him to lead her outside. Once they had stepped out in the hallway, he took the key out of her hand and locked the door for her. They made their way down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door.

Once they had come outside, Willy led her over to a small brown colored car and digging in his pocket, he removed the key and started to unlock the passenger side door. Once it was opened, he helped her to slowly climb inside. Closing the door, he went around to the other side and climbed behind the wheel.

Before starting the car, he glanced around to make sure that no one was in the vicinity of where they were parked. After what seemed like ages, he glanced over and noticed that she had her head leaned back up against the back headrest and her eyes were closed.

It was at that moment when he pulled the small vial from his pocket. Pulling the tiny cork off of it, he quietly poured some of the contents into the palm of his hand. Closing his eyes, he gently blew the substance into her face. He returned the lid and carefully slid the vial back inside his pocket.

As soon as Jeanette felt the strange substance lightly falling against her cheeks, she felt as though the world was spinning out of control and she passed out. Her head moved from the headrest to the right until her body was literally leaning against his shoulder. Her steady breathing could now be felt against his ear.

The chocolatier took a deep and staggering breath as he started the car. "I'm so sorry for doing that to you, but I'm just not ready for you to know the whole truth just yet," he whispered under his breath. He drove away from the building, his destination, the chocolate factory.

Within ten minute's driving time, Willy was back inside the factory grounds. He parked behind the large buildings and cut the motor. He hoped that Jeanette would stay asleep until he was able to get her inside. As Wilkenson had said, there was really no telling how long the 'Sleeping Dust' effects would last on a full grown woman.

He crawled out of the car and went around to open the passenger side door. Gently, he pulled her out of the car and carried her towards the door leading inside.

When the door opened, he was left looking down into the eyes of Kai, one of his Oompa Loompa workers. "Did Mr. Wilkenson notify Pauli?" He asked as a greeting.

"Of course, he's waiting in the sick-wing, Sir," he said as he stared at the girl who lay limply in his employer's arms. "Is that her?" He asked.

"Yes," Willy said as he took a deep breath, his thoughts literally racing. "She's under the influence of the dust, so will probably stay asleep throughout the examination. It's a good thing, because she is really afraid of having to do this." He took a deep breath. "Did Mr. Wilkenson call Dennis?"

The Oompa Loompa nodded. "Yes, and the young man said that he would hopefully see you both tomorrow." As he spoke, they wound their way though the halls and corridors until they reached the sick-wing.

Willy's doctor was standing and waiting for them when they arrived and he quickly ushered them into the room where he could have a look at the young woman and try to determine what specifically was wrong.

Throughout the examination, Willy remained with Jeanette, his worried gaze constantly on her. "She will have to stay here at least until tomorrow morning," Pauli eventually said, his voice etched with matter-of-fact undertones.

"How can she?" Willy asked. "She doesn't even know that I'm 'Bill'. I haven't told her that part yet."

"Be that as it may, she's going to need a lot of support, Mr. Wonka," the doctor said.

"Have you been able to determine what she has?" He asked.

"I believe that what she has is called CFS, but it's commonly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome," he said. "Based on what you told me about her current circumstance, she is probably suffering from something that is keeping her awake at night. I must also say that this is not just about her being tired and unable to work, but it is also because she's coping with a great deal emotionally."

"I understand that, but why do we have to keep her here?" He asked nervously. "Can't we return her to her home and give her something that will help combat the symptoms?"

"That would not be the answer in this case," Pauli responded with an adamant shake of his head. "Medications might help her ease some of the symptoms, but there is no known cure for CFS. She cannot merely take a pill for it and then be cured from it." He paused, his gray colored eyes meeting Willy's blue ones. "Answer a question for me, Mr. Wonka."

"What?"

"Where was her father when he died?" Pauli asked.

"I believe he died at home," Willy said, but thought for several minutes and then offered an emphatic nod. "Yes, she indicated that that was where everything had happened."

"I see," Pauli mused, but after several moments of contemplation, he nodded. "Then that seems to back up my prognosis completely."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that he died at home. Well, imagine what it would be like for you to return to the house where your father had lived. If memory serves, Mr. Wilkenson said that it was quite difficult for you to even step foot into that house because of the memories that it evoked."

"Yes, but I didn't like my father," he objected. "It seems a rather strange for us to try and compare each of our circumstances."

"Perhaps, but she is literally surrounded by memories and reminders of what she has lost. By staying at that flat, deep inside, she is connecting everything that surrounds her to something tragic; that being the death of her father. The point is, she needs to be in a place where she will feel or discover that perhaps she has gained something as opposed to losing it." He paused and took a deep breath, but as he did, he removed his glasses and began to polish them on a handkerchief before putting them back on. "You can help her, Sir. She must not see us, in fact, it is perhaps better that she does not."

Willy took a deep breath. "Pauli, I honestly did not want her to find out all of this through having gotten sick."

"Maybe we can work this so that she doesn't realize that you are Mr. Wonka," the Oompa Loompa said. "But, you should eventually tell her. She will otherwise feel as though you have betrayed her, and you are apparently someone whom she has grown to trust."

"Is that why she was able to show the symptoms two nights ago, but didn't before?" He asked.

"Generally one cannot control these symptoms, as they come as they will. Perhaps you were not as aware of their presence before the events of two days ago happened. It is also remotely possible that her adrenaline had finally run out and she was incapable of hiding them from you," Pauli said. "There could be countless reasons for things happening as they did, but right now you know what she faces, and that's the first step to helping her."

"You're right," Willy said, but cast an unhappy glance down at Jeanette's sleeping form. "She deserves to know the truth, but right now I am not certain that this moment would be prudent."

Pauli nodded. "I'm going to leave so that you can bring her out of the effects of the dust and inform her of what I have said." He reached over and touched her forehead. "I wish you a speedy recovery, young lady," he said before backing away from the bed and disappearing through a doorway.

Once the Oompa Loompa had left, the door closed behind him.

Willy reached over and retrieved another vial, this one containing the antidote to the powder he had used earlier. He carefully removed the lid, and in a similar fashion, gently blew some of it into her face. Within seconds, the bottle had disappeared in the recesses of his pocket. He then leaned over and rested his hand on her forehead. "Jeanette," he whispered as he brushed his hand through her hair. He waited for several moments until she stirred.


	15. Chapter 14: Confessions

_Author's Notes: Ok, you guys are really on the ball. Five reviews, wow. That means I am going to post a new chapter to this one. I hope that you will like it, but I think you romantics will. Since some of you seem to be classic Gene Wilder Wonka fans, I thought I would mention that I am currently posting a huge epic Wonka story that is 100 percent Wilder Wonka material. So if you want, feel free to have a looksie. _

_Jousting Elf With a Sabre, thanks for tossing in your two cents. Glad you are enjoying the story._

_LA Suka, I actually should say that I kind of borrowed that sleeping dust concept from fxkoala's story 'Chocology', which is one of my absolute favorite stories. It's a Johnny Depp Wonka story, but it's quite good. So thanks to fxkoala for the tiny bit of inspiration there. Sorry I didn't mention that in yesterday's update. Where was my head?_

_Canangelscry, yes, I know about CFS from several years back. I hope that your Uncle has his under control. I have already written the scene when Willy tells her, but read on, I think you'll be OK with this chapter nonetheless._

_YA YA, there are a few of us Wilder Wonkaholics out there, and I am glad to see some of you reading this. As I said, have a look at my profile and you can scrounge out the Wilder Wonka stories. Most have Wilder Wonka in the summary. There will be more of those…as I have three more story ideas drifting through my head and some of them are quite silly (Ie. a crossover with the 'Dukes of Hazzard' if you can imagine that)._

_ModreLupis, here's hoping that this meets your approval. I am not sure if it is fluff, but it was fun to write. Enjoy._

_Love the reviews, this one's for all of you who took the time to let me know what you think. Read on friends, and do keep those reviews coming._

_Edited on April 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 14: Confessions**

After several seconds had passed, she wearily opened her eyes. "Who's there?" She whispered as she tried to focus on who was seated next to her. When she recognized that he was sitting next to the bed and was leaning over her, she continued to speak. "W-what happened?"

The chocolatier smiled secretly. "You fell asleep. Are you alright?"

"I guess," she responded. "Where are we?"

Willy took a deep breath and bit down on his lower lip. I will not lie to her, he thought but clasped his hands together as his gaze locked with hers. "We are in a safe place not far from where I live," he responded.

"I thought you were taking me to see a doctor," she whispered.

"The doctor was already here and he checked you over and even took some blood," Willy said. "I don't know how he came up with such a quick prognosis, but he seems to think that you are showing the signs of something called 'Chronic Fatigue Syndrome'. He said that you need a different sort of environment in order to recover since your flat causes undue stress and tension," he said. "He went on to say that there is really no known cure for it, but that's why you have been feeling depressed, and even sick at times. You're emotionally and physically worn out."

"That was why I was acting so stupidly?" She asked as she sat up in bed and looked at him.

"It wasn't stupid," he objected.

"Maybe not, but I really thought I was losing my mind. I'm not usually this way, Bill. Things usually don't bother me as much as they have been lately," she said softly. "I guess because I thought that I was alone through all of this."

Willy shook his head. "No, you've just been dealing with a lot more conditions and circumstances than most others would contend with. The doctor said that the best thing for you is to get a change in atmosphere."

"What about working?" She asked.

"You can still work if you want to, but I have been asked to make sure you don't overdo it," he said. "And I will make certain that you don't."

"Why didn't the doctor just wake me up and tell me this himself?" She asked.

"You were sound asleep, and neither of us had the heart to wake you. Besides, he had other things that needed tending," Willy said smiling at her. "I thought that when you leave here tomorrow morning, we could go back to Cherry Street, and you could stay a few days there. It's not much, I know, but at least you aren't inundated with memories."

"Where would you stay?" She asked.

"I can stay at home, it would be no trouble," he said. "Besides, I've gotten rather used to living on this side of town anyway."

Jeanette sat up in the bed and looked at him. "Why are you doing all of this for me?" She asked. "We just met this week and yet I feel as though I've known you for years."

Willy took a deep breath, but looked at her. "The answer is quite simple, Jeanette, I care for you, and I don't want to see you get hurt anymore than you already have. I know that it seems out of the ordinary for you to meet all these new people in one week, but it all came at a time when you were ready for it. You were ready for Thelma and Dennis to come into your life and be the friends you needed. You just didn't fully realize that they had always been there for you."

"But you hadn't," she whispered. "You just came into my life so soon after…" Her voice trailed off, but she could not finish the sentence. Instead, she lowered her head and stared down at her hands.

Willy's mind was positively reeling at this point. He wanted to tell her everything, but something inside of him held him at bay. He cared for Jeanette, and yet for some reason, he knew that she would eventually put two and two together and realize on her own who Bill Thompson really was. He inhaled sharply as he stood up.

"I should go and let you get some rest," he said.

"No, Bill, please don't go," she whispered. "I'm confused and frightened. You tell me I have a condition that I have never heard of, and I hate the thought of being alone."

"So do I," he said. He covered his face with his hands and allowed them to brush upwards to the wiry hair that domed his head. "Jeanette, I don't know what's the matter with me. I have never felt this way before."

"What way?" She asked.

"I can't describe it. Thelma seemed to know what it was, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to believe her," he said. "This is all so new and strange."

Jeanette looked up at him. "I know that you care for me, it has shown in everything you have said and done." She raised her hand wanting to rest it on his shoulder, but with her energy spent, she wearily allowed it to slip away. "Bill, I'm more afraid of being alone then I am of losing myself." This confession out, she closed her eyes as tears streamed from below them, their moistness leaving a trek down over her face. "Oh God, what's wrong with me? I can't seem to make any sense no matter what I say."

Willy stared down at her for several seconds and then closed his own eyes. A stray tear was now caught in the corner of his eye, but he simply stared down at her. What have you done to me? The conflicting thoughts he had about her were somehow getting the best of him.

He leaned over and ran his hand gently through her hair. "There's nothing at all wrong with you? Why would you ask such questions, Jeanette? Do you want me to tell you what is wrong?"

"With me?" She asked, but without waiting for him to respond, she opened her eyes and reached for his hand. "No." The single word out, she closed her eyes and waited for him to speak.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said softly. "Jeanette, you are such an amazing woman, you just have no idea how special you are."

She opened her eyes, but tightened her hold on his hand. "I'm afraid of feeling something that seems wrong and illogical and not understanding why I feel it. I've never been in love before, I don't even know if these feelings are love, or if they're some mixed up concoction in my head."

Willy's throat went dry. "Love?" He whispered.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the tears still streaming below the lids. "Thirteen years…" she whispered her voice cracking as the two words emerged, the clarification of the vast differences in their ages.

"You know I don't care about that," Willy said. He could feel that his breathing had become uneven, his heartbeat was now racing and his palms were beginning to feel moist. "I care about you. I keep remembering this beautiful woman I met in the laundry house, the one who tried to stay optimistic contrary to a hundred different reasons that argued her not to." He took a deep breath, not really certain as to where this conversation was going to go. "You are the woman who I shared a meal with two nights ago. You told me about carousels and childhood dreams." He swallowed, this time feeling the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. "Jeanette, nothing that you could possibly tell me is going to change the way I feel for you. Perhaps my telling you what I am feeling is going to make things easier for both of us to contend with."

"I thought that you only felt sorry for me," she whispered.

"No," he said as he reached for both of her hands but gently pulled on her arms so that she was sitting up in the bed. "Perhaps when we first met, I felt empathy for you, but then that changed the more time we spent in one another's company. There were moments when I wanted to do nothing more than take you in my arms and hold you. I wanted to protect you from all the painful events in your life, and could not very easily explain why." As he spoke, he released her hands and began to move up her arms until they reached her shoulders. The gentle pressure remained there as he inched closer to her and pulled her into a loving embrace.

What she felt at that moment was her face coming to rest against him, just below his chin. "Bill," she whispered his name, the single word a mere exhalation of air. She anticipated what would come next. The embrace ended and she felt herself backing away from the warmth that he emanated.

Using his hands, he gently cupped her chin and tipped her face up so that she was looking into his eyes. "I love you, Jeanette," he whispered just before his lips gently touched hers.

As these words filled her, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the kiss, her arms; she wrapped around him and held tightly as his lips caressed hers.

The kiss was warm and sweet, and after lingering there for several seconds, they eventually withdrew. As he backed up, she raised her hand and touched her lips, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. "What's going to happen now?" She whispered.

"You're going to get better," he said simply. "Now that you know how important you are to me, you should no longer doubt or question what my motives are for wanting to be with you. I will not leave you to go through all this alone, I promise."

Instead of speaking, she licked her lips. "Bill?" She whispered and contrary to the exhaustion that encased her, she reached out to him and soon felt him taking her in his arms. "Don't leave me."

Willy shook his head. "I won't," he promised, his hands now running gently through her hair. "I'll stay right here with you."

He helped her to lay back down against the pillow, her hand never releasing his.

As she drifted off to sleep, the thoughts that were now cascading through his mind were centered on how he was going to tell her that he was also Willy Wonka. How would she take the news that she had actually been inside the factory and had never even realized it?

This was becoming almost too much, even for him. After she had drifted off to sleep, he quietly got up and left the room.

* * *

Jeanette slept off and on throughout the night, but early the following morning, Willy slipped into her room in order to give her more of the sleeping powder. This way, she would sleep during the duration of time that he would need to get her beyond the gates of the factory.

On the desk next to bed a peach colored envelope rested. He guessed that she had brought it with her when she had left her home the day before. Before picking her up, he turned the object over and read the name that graced it. 'Mr. Wonka' was written across it, and he opened the letter, pulled out the contents and began to read.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Wonka,_

_I wanted to write you sooner, but that did not come about as I had wished. I apologize for the time that has passed since writing my last letter. In all honesty, I have been feeling under the weather since it came, and right now I am trying to write some sort of answer before I have to go to work. I don't know what is the matter with me, to be honest. I thought that it might have been exhaustion, but I am too afraid to go to the doctor and find out. The last time I even spoke to one, he told me that my father was dying._

_I know that you are right and life must go on, but at times it is very difficult to allow that advice to motivate me. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful to you for the supportive words, but I am perhaps not the most optimistic at the moment._

_I sincerely thank you for your kind words about my father; I am happy that you shared that with me. I am also glad that you remembered him. There are times when I really wish that I could find more comforting things about him. At present I am discovering things that are not exactly flattering, and it has left me feeling terribly unhappy._

_Thank you also for the hot chocolate. I was very surprised to find it when I did, and feel myself deeply touched that you have taken the time to look out for me. It is so deeply appreciated._

_With fondest regards,_

_Jeanette_

* * *

Willy shook his head. "In all of this, this precious lady actually found the time to write." He placed the letter back on the table and picked Jeanette up in his arms and carried her from the room. Once he reached the car and had securely buckled her in the passenger seat, he got in, and drove away from the factory. After several minutes, he stopped several meters beyond the back wall of the large complex.

The sun was rising in the distance and he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the antidote to the crystal powder that he had used to put the woman to sleep. He gently blew some in her face, returned it to his pocket, and drove on.

Jeanette did not fully awaken until they had reached Cherry Street and stopped the car several meters from the front door of his old candy shop.

Once he had cut the motor, he turned and looked at her. "Jeanette, are you awake?"

She moaned softly, but soon opened her eyes. "Good morning," she smiled weakly. "Where are we?"

"We just arrived to the flat on Cherry Street. Shall we go in? I'm sure Dennis is inside and waiting for us," he said.

Jeanette nodded as she started to crawl out of the car.


	16. Chapter 15: Rejuvenating Love

_Here's the next chapter of this. I have been putting a lot of time this morning on this particular part because I think it is a lovely part. I don't want to give anything away, but this story has pushed the timeline a little so that we can see the extent of love that has flourished in both of their lives._

_Canangelscry, glad you liked the first kiss. I rather liked it, and Willy's confession was really a wonderful chance for me to write the insecurity that could dwell in him about such instances._

_LA Suka, yes he is a sneaky devil isn't he? Of course, there's a reason for this little bit to have happened, but that comes later._

_YA YA, glad you like, and yes, I was quite partial to that chapter as well._

_MordreLupis, yes, perhaps it is fluff, but the deal is, I like fluff now and again. With the plot taking off in the next chapter, this little bit of emotion is rather important, I think. Read on._

_Enjoy everyone and thanks to my reviewers, keep at it, I love the encouragement._

_Edited on April 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 15: Rejuvenating Love**

The weeks that followed Jeanette's impromptu visit to the factory brought about changes in both her and Willy's lives. While the young woman had become happier in the wake of making new friends, she had also become accustomed to having them around when it came to matters of the heart. She had lost track of how often Bill, Dennis, Cathy, Thelma and Milton had been there for her and just became grateful to them for their presence.

Not only were things easier with her friends, she was also starting to get the fatigue she often felt under some sort of control. She spent four days in the flat on Cherry Street and had enjoyed the time away from the stresses of her every day life. Often, she would comment about how she felt as though the days away from home were like being on holiday.

During this time, she was able to not only help to renovate the flat, but she had also got it relatively organized and ready for occupancy. This inspired her to return to her own flat and start getting that place picked up as well.

One of the main tasks, which lie before her was the eventual sorting through and discarding some of her father's belongings.

She had, during the past week, managed to go through Gordon's closets and pack up many of his things. Bill had helped her research the homeless shelters in the area and find one that would be able to put the clothing to use. The older stuff, they had no choice but to throw away. This had proven to be much more difficult than she had even anticipated, and with his help, she had managed to send these things off without regret.

The next thing that needed tending was the paperwork. Ever since she had started getting financial assistance from Willy Wonka, she began to notice small complex details of her life that the chocolatier had managed to sort out for her. She had become all the more grateful to him for this and it seemed as though he had taken care of everything. Of course, there were still other papers that needed filing and bills that needed paying.

When Bill could not be with her, Jeanette received a great deal of emotional support from Thelma and Milton. The presence of both of these people in her life made her feel as though she had somehow found surrogate parents in her neighbors.

As she came home that day, she was carrying a large bundle of groceries. While at the shop on Cherry Street, she invited Bill for dinner and had managed to obtain a number of fresh vegetables for an Asian stir-fry. She had contemplated inviting her neighbors to come as well, but at that moment, she really wanted nothing more than the time to be alone with him. She figured that they would understand as she was young, and Thelma had made a remark several days before about her looking like a girl in love.

It was no secret that Jeanette was, for the most part, feeling quite happy.

The only drawback to this new life was that the letters from Willy Wonka had ceased to come. Every time she looked at the canister of hot chocolate on the counter, she felt a dull ache in her heart that her 'pen-friendship' with him had come to an abrupt end. At the same time, she was contemplating whether or not she really needed the emotional support from the chocolatier at all.

Now that she was starting to get an overflowing abundance of loving support from Bill, she constantly argued with her conscience about whether Willy Wonka's silence should even matter; but yet it did. The chocolatier had become her benefactor and he was helping her as a friend and confidant would. She felt a sense of loyalty to him that somehow mirrored that of her father. Along with that, she truly loved the kind hearted letters that he had sent to her. Both of these letters felt rather like getting news from a friend, although deep inside, she still believed that they had never actually met.

Jeanette hoped that amidst all the chaos that seemed to be surrounding Willy Wonka's life that the chocolatier was doing well. She had dropped one letter off at the factory since leaving the Cherry Street flat and returning home. Most of the letter was written to apologize for having written such a sad letter during the time after she had been diagnosed with CFS. She was seriously afraid that she had unloaded too much a burden on the man who was helping her, and the guilt about that seemed present no matter what she said or did.

The truth was although she was still quite often fatigued, she was now handling the symptoms of it much better and healthier than she had done before. It was no secret that the stresses in her life had finally come under some sort of control.

Amidst all of that, she was becoming much happier with the time she spent helping her friends with the renovation work at the old candy shop. She was not only learning a new trade, but she was enjoying herself immensely. Along with that, her evenings were taken up with the classes conducted by her former school teacher. Now, she was starting to really feel as though she could obtain her secondary school degree by the time the year was out. This added to her confidence level and now she felt a sense of accomplishment that she had often believed to have died off during her youth.

The times she spent working were now the happiest in her life as opposed to being the most heartbreaking. She had found love in Bill, but also a sort of younger brother friendship in Dennis that she never really had.

Today, she was feeling both physically and emotionally better, although oftentimes, she pondered the grief and inability to mourn her father's passing. She missed her father more than she thought was possible, and wished that he could be there to see the newfound joy she had found in her life.

Her flat now smelled of soy sauce and various vegetables. She leaned over and opened the window over the sink so as to allow fresh air to waft through the rooms. It felt good to have such a warm and cozy home. The flat was now decorated with various houseplants as well as candles and other small mementos. It somehow had changed the entire essence of the place and left it with a decorative feel.

Along with that, she had managed to get the television repaired but still had music playing. The sounds of Karen Carpenter's lovely vocals seemed to set the mood for the entire evening. Jeanette smiled as she tossed the last of the cut up vegetables into a small wok and leaned over it to take in the smells of freshly cut greens. "This smells wonderful," she murmured as she backed away and lowered the heat so that she could set the table.

As she walked the length of the kitchen, she opened the cupboard and reached for two plates and brought them over to the dining table. The plates were from her parents wedding, and they seemed perfect for an intimate dinner with Bill.

She placed them on the table, and lit the candle that was in the center. Next, she returned to the cabinet and pulled two wine glasses and a decanter out. The decanter was dusty so she washed it and smiled when the crystal reflected the light emitted by the candle. It was perfect, everything was perfect. It was as though her entire life had somehow been transformed for the better.

As she checked the stir-fry once again, the doorbell chimed and she wiped her hands on a towel and went to answer it. Her eyes were filled with joy when she opened the door and saw Willy standing on the other side.

"Hi," he said as he drew her into a hug and planted a gentle kiss to her lips. "This smells wonderful."

She looked up at him. "I bought a wok and wanted to try it out," she said shrugging her shoulders, but she kept her arms snugly wrapped around him.

"How you feeling?" He asked. "You didn't overdo it, did you?"

"No, I didn't, I'm just cooking dinner, I do that every night," she said as she smiled up at him. "Bill, you don't have to worry about me, I'm doing better. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"That sounds nice," he said, his eyes shining brightly. "You did at least leave the wine for me to open. I don't want to feel completely useless, you know."

"Yes, the wine is sitting on the counter awaiting your loving attention," she said as she released her hold on him and watched as he went over to the counter, picked up the corkscrew and expertly opened the bottle of wine. As she watched him, she smiled. "Is there not something that you can't do?" She asked as he left the bottle on the counter to breathe.

"I've never been very good at card tricks," he smirked. "So, tell me, are you really alright? You haven't had anymore episodes with fatigue, have you?"

"Since this afternoon?" She asked coyly, but felt warmth about his concern.

When he nodded, she smiled and shook her head. "I haven't had any," she said as she wrapped her arms once more around him, her eyes now gazing up into his. "Have I told you lately that I think you have the prettiest eyes on the planet?" Her voice emerged as a half purr, but she was being absolutely serious, albeit flirtatious. His blue eyes always gave her goose bumps and she found them to be a strange mixture of intensity, secrecy, and fun.

"I do believe you have," he responded playfully, the smirk still stretching across his face as he looked down at her. "Now be honest and tell me how you are doing."

"Oh Bill, I'm feeling wonderful today. I got a lot done at the shop and the cabinets there look positively beautiful. I never thought that I would love doing work like that as much as I do. Not only are the results completely breathtaking, but the experience is so rewarding," she said as she rested her head on his shoulder. "How else do you expect me to feel after such a day as this?"

"I wasn't sure," he said honestly. "You seemed to be lost in space at times, and I was starting to get concerned that perhaps you were having a relapse of fatigue." His expression carried so much warmth and concern that she feared for a split second that she might start crying.

She probably would have if her mood had not been as optimistic as it was.

Taking a deep breath, she offered him as honest an answer as she could muster. "I guess during those moments of contemplation, I was thinking about Willy Wonka," she said. "Call me a bit of a softie, but I've been a bit worried about him. He hasn't written back in over two weeks and I kind of miss the letters and the friendship. Do you think that maybe I pushed him away when I wrote about being sick and how sad I had been feeling?"

"I don't think so," he said honestly. "You have had a massive amount of things to contend with, but I am also certain that he has as well. Try not to worry, he'll write you when he is able, of that I am almost positive."

Jeanette nodded as she set some rice to boil. Once that was done, she poured two glasses of wine and handed him one. "Maybe this is better than hot chocolate milk to have a toast with."

He accepted the glass and held it up. "To us," he whispered as he tapped his glass against hers.

"To us," she repeated as she sipped the wine.

Soon, the reclusive chocolatier was no longer on her mind.

* * *

That same evening after they had eaten the dinner she prepared, the two of them settled down to watch a movie on the sofa. As the movie played, Willy draped his arm around Jeanette's shoulder, her head resting against his chest. They sat like this for the entire duration of the film, 'Mary Poppins'.

Willy had made the suggestion that they watch it, although after the first half hour of the movie, his body was noticeably tense. As it played out, he seemed to relax, but Jeanette had spent the two hours turning and watching his varied reactions to the actions playing out before them.

She could not forget the emotional connections that he had to the film, nor did she want to do something that might hurt him.

As the kites flew through the air and marked the end of the movie, Jeanette looked up at him but could only see his profile. She could not help but wonder what sort of emotions were going through his mind. As she stared at him, she noticed how he seemed to be deep in thought, his mouth turned in a contemplative angle. "Bill?" She whispered, but he did not respond. She got to her feet, went over, and turned off the television before turning back around and seeing him sitting on the sofa in a literal daze.

Standing in front of him, she leaned over and lightly touched his face with her fingertips. The skin beneath his eyes was dry, and for that she was grateful. She continued to run her hand gently across his cheeks before lightly touching the curly hair that silhouetted his face.

"Did you like it?" She eventually asked, her voice suddenly breaking the stillness of the room.

Upon hearing her words, Willy's expression shifted and he offered her a slight, but unconvincing, smile. Jeanette could almost tell instinctively that it held hidden feelings and emotions. As if by impulse, she moved her fingers until they touched his mouth. Instead of immediately speaking, he simply pressed feather light kisses against her hand.

After several moments of silence, he did speak, his words not exactly honest. "It was nice," he said, but building up inside of him was the acknowledgement that he had enjoyed being in her company far more than the film.

When nothing emerged from her, his thoughts started to play their little game with him. It had been a pretty good movie, the music optimistic and light, but to the chocolatier, it reminded him of the tragedy that was encased in his family life.

Looking at her, he tried to make his expression more accepting than it was. He did not have the heart to tell her that he would have preferred they had done anything other than this.

"You're lying," she eventually whispered as she sat down beside him. She looked deeply into his eyes, but continued to brush her fingers lightly across his cheek. In this stance, she continued speaking. "You don't have to like everything I do, Bill," she whispered with a concerned undertone in her voice. She continued to feel the contours of his face, all the while taking in the smoothness of his cheeks and the softness of his mouth. This made her wish that she could be more bold and daring than she actually was.

She remembered the first time he had kissed her and how deep down inside she had yearned for more than just a kiss. Yet, she also knew that that kiss had happened amidst the illness that had left her fatigued and practically limp in his arms.

After speaking, she stretched out on the sofa so that she could lie comfortably on his lap, her eyes now staring up at him. She raised her hands and began to inch her fingertips across his cheeks once again, all the while not knowing that her actions were about to drive him out of his mind.

Abruptly, he reached for her hands and captured both of them in his. He then pulled them away from his face and he sat with them cupped gently in his hold.

As his eyes took in every aspect of her face, a gentle smile tugged at his lips. It was obvious that during the past two weeks, she had regained some of her color and appeared to be much healthier than she had been the days following their initial meeting.

He released her hands so that he could gently pull her closer to him, his arms carefully wrapping around her until she lay completely relaxed in his embrace. As he shifted, he could feel the top of her head against his lips.

For her part, she lay completely relaxed, the gentle cadence of his breathing left her as though she had consumed an entire bottle of wine. The soft fragrance of red wine was slightly detectable with each breath he took.

After a moment, she opened her eyes, but no words could emerge. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she had no idea how to formulate those words and in the back of her mind, she wondered what he would say in response to them. She licked her lips and remained wrapped in his hold, not once contemplating moving out of the sanctuary she found in his arms.

After several minutes, her eyes simply closed as she felt the softness of his lips covering hers.

Instead of thinking about what she was doing, she allowed her lips to part and could suddenly feel his tongue purging the recesses of her mouth, the full taste of wine now etched in his kiss. Without contemplating what she was doing, she wound her arms around him and allowed the kiss to intensify, her body pressing longingly against his.

When she felt his hold tightening on her, she felt as though she was swaying in his embrace. I love you, her soul screamed as loudly as it could, but still no words emerged.

It was not until after Bill had left later that night, that she whispered to the stillness how much she loved him.

As she crawled into bed that night, she touched her lips where he had kissed her. She wanted him body and soul, yet she had no idea how to tell him of the feelings he ignited in her.

Amidst all of these conflicting thoughts, she could still not get Willy Wonka out of her mind.

I must be insane, she chastised herself as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. The last thoughts that filtered through her consciousness seemed to be screaming: I'm in love with one man, but can't stop thinking about another.


	17. Chapter 16: Honesty and Heartache

_This is a massive cliffhanger chapter, and you know what that means. Mwahahaha! I want reviews. It's a cruel world we live in folks. But this is the moment that you guys have probably been waiting for._

_Canangelscry, I'm really glad you like this story and are getting so much enjoyment out of it. I am thoroughly enjoying the work I have done on it and the best parts are coming up. Just watch this space and enjoy._

_YA-YA, Jeanette and Dennis…no way. I don't write that kind of romance stories. Hehe. I write this for Willy. Dennis is too young for Jeanette, she's 24 and he's just turned 19. So this is 100 percent Willy's romance. Of course, I don't want to make her more confused than she already is._

_LA Suka, me too, I can't imagine this being a Depp Wonka story, it just doesn't fit with his personality. I figured if it were, then it would probably have been harder to make him 'look normal' for the Bill scenes…but whatever people want to imagine as they read, it's free game as far as I'm concerned, but I am thinking of Gene Wilder Wonka as I have been writing it. I love Wilder Wonka!_

_Enjoy the latest installment, cliffhanger and review. Please._

_Edited April 11, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 16: Honesty and Heartache**

By the following morning, Jeanette woke to hear that the world was once more abuzz. Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket number two had been found in a community not too far away from London and this had succeeded in sending everything and everyone into hysterics. Things were starting to happen, and she figured that the chocolatier probably had more on his mind than keeping up a pen-friendship with her.

Of course, as she went about getting ready to go to work, she was happy for the chocolatier. She hoped that he was safe and that that the rumors that she had heard about him were false. She was anxious whenever she thought about him and it was as though she was worried about a friend. A lazy friend who did not answer letters, but a friend nonetheless.

As she turned on the television set, she listened to the reports about the ticket's finder as well as more rumors that were now circulating about the chocolatier himself. Most of the reports seemed to indicate that he was holed away somewhere in the factory. Others, the more interesting ones, seemed rather insistent that he was out in the open. It now seemed as though people were really keeping their eyes open for any sign of him. Of course, there was no question left in her mind, Jeanette had ceased hearing from him and she often pondered why that was the case.

She quietly ate breakfast and got ready to go to work, the thoughts about Golden Tickets drifting through her mind as she mixed some of the cocoa that Willy had sent to her. She wondered if there was anyone she could tell besides Dennis, Thelma, and Milton about her pen-friendship with the candy maker.

Of course, she had still no personal contact with him, and she pondered if she would ever receive another letter from him. She stared across the table at the printed letter and the two notes the chocolatier had managed to get to her.

Sighing, she felt tears stinging her eyes when she stared down at the notes. Was she starting to feel some sort of kinship with this man? He was as great a mystery that day as he had been before the letters had come.

She remained seated at the table, but after several minutes, she got up, walked the length of the room, grabbed a piece of her stationary and began to write, her words somehow flowing from her heart and landing on the page.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Wonka,_

_It has been two weeks since your last letter came and I have already answered it. In fact, I wrote twice, all the while hoping that you didn't find my constant letters an aggravation. In the wake of one of the Golden Tickets being found, I wanted to write again because I have been worried about you. I hope that this letter finds you well and that you aren't too upset with my writing about rather sad things, as I had done._

_I am doing better, and have found friends who support and help me. I guess you could say that as Robert Frost so adequately put it, life has gone on._

_I just wanted you to know that I don't expect you to write an answer to the letters I send, but I did want to let you know that I consider you a friend, and when things are not easy, or I read something in the paper about you or your business, I start to think of you and hope that you are well._

_Please don't misinterpret what I am saying, as I am not very good with words. I just wanted to let you know that, my thoughts have been on you and I cannot explain why._

_Take care, my friend._

_Yours Truly,_

_Jeanette_

* * *

She reread the letter and then folded it before sliding it into an envelope. As soon as it was safely tucked away in her pocket, she returned her attention to the cocoa. Once she had finished it, she went over to the coat rack and retrieved her jacket. I will be late today, she thought, but I have to take this letter to the factory and drop it off before I go to work. I'm sure Bill won't mind.

She touched her lips in the exact places where they had exchanged kisses the night before. "I am in love with him," she eventually whispered. "Now, I just have to find the courage inside to go and tell him. I know that I cannot imagine my life without him."

With a nervous nod, she left the flat.

* * *

Dennis arrived at work bright and early that morning. He was already hard at work when Willy arrived. At the present moment, he wished with all his heart that Willy would come out and tell Jeanette the truth. The young man could tell that his two friends were involved with one another, they had the tell tale signs of being in love. It was hard for Dennis to comprehend what exactly the candy maker was waiting for, but his patience in the matter was seriously waning and he was not even directly involved. After having known Jeanette Waters for the period of time he had, he knew instinctively that this could destroy her completely.

Instead of greeting the chocolatier with a general 'good morning', he approached Willy and leaned his slender frame against the wall. "You got a minute?" He asked.

"Sure, what's on your mind?" Willy stopped what he was doing and straightened out.

"Jeanette is on my mind," he said, his voice indicative that he was ready for a confrontation. "You do intend to tell her about who you are, don't you?" The young man asked as Willy pulled a chair out from one of the tables and sat down.

"I intend to, I just have to find the right moment," he said.

"The right moment?" Dennis asked. "Haven't you had plenty of those? There have been literally hundreds of opportunities where you could have told her the truth."

"This is not easy, Dennis," Willy said sternly, hoping that his tone of voice would put off the younger man and he would return to his work.

Unfortunately that did not happen, instead the youth turned on him. He put his hands on his hips and spoke, his words matter-of-fact. "You're in love with her;" he said calmly. "It's written all over your face."

The chocolatier looked at the younger man and after several seconds, he offered a reciprocating nod. "Yes, I care very deeply for her."

"Then tell her," Dennis said. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I am not sure how she will take this news," Willy said. "Denny, I'm not a normal man, I cannot do the things that you can."

"That's bullshit," Dennis said firmly. "For the last two weeks, you have been hanging around here almost every day. You've been a friend and confidant to her. She told me just yesterday that she was sad because Willy Wonka hadn't answered her last letter. Hell, I found it totally ironic since Willy Wonka happens to be standing right there beside her and she doesn't even know it. Do you even see how totally unfair all of this is to her? You're playing a game with her."

"I'm not trying to," Willy objected.

"Well, that's what it is, a painful and hurtful game that neither of you can possibly win," he said. "You've been sounding like these guys who have split personalities. When they meet someone, they do and say all the right words, but they are so caught up in the lie that they start to lose themselves in it. It becomes a game and as they play the game they forget that the one they are telling these stories to is a person with real feelings and emotions. Don't you see how unfair this is?"

Willy raised his head and looked at Dennis. "I don't know how to tell her, alright?" His words emerged in a shout. Although it was clear that he felt shame, he also felt angry about being rightfully pegged by the blunt teenager. Eventually, he took a deep breath and spoke, his next words emerging softer. "Look, do you think being me is easy?"

"I never said that it was, but this isn't about you, it's about Jeanette," the teenager snapped. "It's really selfish of you to put your feelings ahead of hers. Let's not forget who the real culprit and victim are here."

"I haven't forgotten," Willy managed.

"I think you have," Dennis said. "Just tell me how you would feel if the roles were switched and you were the one who had been stuck playing along with some sort of twisted game. You would probably think it sucks about as much as I do. Not only that, but your ego would tell you that she was using you for some unscrupulous plan to get at your _fame_." Although he had emphasized the last word, it emerged with the utmost distaste.

The chocolatier shook his head. "Relationships would be a lot less complicated if I was a normal person, Dennis."

"You're preaching to the choir, my friend. But look, it really doesn't matter who you are, Mr. Wonka. If you're not going to be honest, then what's the point?" Dennis asked.

"I…" his voice broke.

"…You love her, just admit it. You said you cared for her. I care for her too, but I'm not in love with her. What is so difficult about admitting to loving someone?"

"I told her that I loved her," Willy admitted. "It was just before we kissed the very first time. She didn't respond to these words as I had hoped, in fact, I think they took her aback, maybe even frightened her."

"Maybe you should tell her again, and this time ask her how she feels," Dennis said and cast a wary glance around the room before inhaling slowly. "I know I may be out of line here, but Jeanette's my friend and I'm worried about her. To be completely frank, I'm worried about you, too."

Willy nodded. "You don't seem worried that I would fire you for speaking so brutally."

"You gotta do what you gotta do, but if you were to fire me for being honest, then you'd be acting like a jerk, and I don't think you are one," Dennis said.

"Even if I haven't been honest with Jeanette?" Willy asked.

"Even then, but you really should tell her the truth," he said. "Let her know who you are and that she matters more to you than publicity or any of that other stuff. I mean; during the time that we've known each other, have either of us ever mentioned the factory?"

"No, and it surprises me because most people would. I was thinking right after I told you that you would ask me about it, but you never did," he said.

"I guess I'm not like most people," Dennis said. "It never occurred to me that I could ask you for anything besides friendship. The truth is, I like you for who you are not what you do. Don't get me wrong, I've bought and eaten more than my fair share of candy bars, and when I was little I fantasized about the factory, but that's where it ends. I really do think that you're a great guy, and a good friend. I just don't dig all that pomp and circumstance and I don't think Jeanette does either." He looked at Willy, his gaze never faltering. "I'm putting my cards on the table here, a lie is what ruined my relationship with my father, and I can't play along with this one much longer."

"It is?" Willy asked.

"Yeah, when my folks got divorced several years back, my pop came to me and promised that he would go the extra mile for me. You know, do everything he could to help me out and swearing on everything holy that his actions were not my fault. Well, those words were about as empty as a politician's promise. He didn't do anything he said. In fact, the first skirt he saw; he was out of there without even looking back. He ended up remarrying a woman about Jeanette's age who hated me and eventually forced him to choose between his own flesh and blood and her. Well, you can guess who he chose. I later realized that a promise that hangs like a pendulum and never gets resolved is rather like a lie," he paused. "I learned early on that anything that is built on a lie can crumble like a house of cards without you being able to stop it."

"You never mentioned your father," Willy said.

"Well, there's no point to drudging about the past since it can't be changed," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Besides, Mum and me are doing just fine without him."

"I'm sorry, Dennis."

"Hey, don't feel sorry for me," he said casually. "I didn't tell you about him for that, I was using it as an example."

"Point well taken," Willy said with a nod. "By the way, you're a great guy yourself."

"Thanks, but Mr. Wonka, if you really do care for Jeanette, then you have to tell her the truth," he said.

"How?"

"I don't know, just tell her. If you're at a loss, then show her the letter her father wrote to you. You have to tell her why you did this. All I can say is that it's probably better you do it sooner as opposed to later."

"I just wanted to get to know her," he admitted.

"Then tell her that," Dennis said. "You were scared that she was some money grubber who wanted to use you, right?"

"Why do you say that?" He asked.

"Because it's the truth. You may be my friend, but you're also one of the most famous people in London. That means you have money, connections, and power, three things that many people would give their right eye to attain. The odd thing about all of it is that even after Jeanette started getting your help, she never talked about it. Instead of talking about 'Willy Wonka the tycoon', she always seemed to mention 'Willy Wonka the friend'. She started telling me about how she felt guilty because she had been wrong about you. Later, she conveyed to me that she believed that you had a greater conscience than most. She couldn't get over how much you cared for someone like her who is considered to be a 'nobody'."

"She's not a nobody," Willy whispered.

"I know that, but let's face it, she wasn't inspired and changed because of your money, but rather the element of compassion that you bestowed on her."

Willy nodded, but instead of speaking, he remained silent, thus allowing Dennis to continue speaking.

"Let me ask you something." When Willy nodded, his question emerged. "Do you think in all honesty that Jeanette would have had the gumption or the courage to write and ask for your help after her father died?"

Willy shook his head. "I don't think she would have. According to her father, she seemed to have really resented me. I think right now she probably has an even bigger reason to."

"She had too much pride and without even realizing it, you tested it," Dennis said. "Right now you have to accept that she has passed your test with flying colors. You've created a mess for yourself and it was all because of Mr. Waters' love for his child. I know that you did the honest thing in offering to help her, but you put her in a very precarious position. She's unconsciously being forced to chose between all or nothing."

Willy closed his eyes, but could feel the unshed tears stinging beneath the lids. "You're right, I was afraid to trust her. It was because I had been hurt by people in the past."

"It shows," Dennis said. "But, you do have friends now, Mr. Wonka, not a bunch of people who want something for nothing, but people who honestly care about you and don't want you to get hurt again."

Willy reached over and touched the teenager's shoulder. "When I told you who I was, you accepted it and never asked for more then I could give. I have very rarely encountered people who didn't come out and make demands of me. I suppose in hindsight I was rather accustomed to being pressured by the wishes of others. I feared that Jeanette was also like that."

"But she's not," Dennis said.

"No, she's not," Willy nodded adamantly. "She's a very valiant and spirited person. When I first met her in the laundry, I felt so much empathy for her. I realized after we had parted company the first time, that a friendship could never be based on that. A true friendship has to be built on trust and acceptance. When I stopped feeling pity for her, I started to embrace the feelings of love and family that I found with her. I never knew that these things existed."

"Then tell her that, let her see the sincerity, and find the closure with all those things that have hurt her," Dennis said, but smiled despite his earlier hostility. "You are an amazing person. You have a way of bringing joy to so many people. It's not about giving gifts, but it's about giving others something profound to hope for or dream about. When you stop to think about that aspect of things, I have this feeling that says you need to count your blessings."

As if on cue, the door opened and the two of them turned around to see that Jeanette was coming into the shop, her eyes filled with joy as she regarded the two of them. "Hey guys, what's going on?"

"We're just having guy talk," Dennis said. "What's that?" He asked as he motioned towards a small bell that Jeanette carried in her hand.

"It's a bell, you ding-dong," she giggled.

"I know what a bell looks like, my mother collects them," he said.

Jeanette nodded. "I remember you saying that before. But, this one isn't for your mother; it's for the shop. I found it at this rummage sale while I was walking here. I thought it would make for a great chime to hang over the door. Then when the business gets opened, the shopkeeper can hear from all parts of the shop when a customer comes in." She rang the bell, the sounds filtering throughout the room. "I can clean it up and it'll be perfect." She rang it a second time. "It has such a nice tone."

"That's cool, Jen," Dennis said. "And it looks as though it fits the overall essence of this place, too."

She smiled, but looked at Willy. "Do you like it?"

"It's lovely," he said. Instead of sounding enthusiastic, his voice emerged dull and hollow.

"That's why I'm late," she bubbled on happily. "I had to mail a letter and then I was just walking back here, and found it. I thought it was gorgeous…" Her voice drifted off. As she studied his face more closely, she noticed that the chocolatier seemed to be lost in his own little world. Eventually, she walked over to him and touched his shoulder. "Are you alright?" She asked; her voice filled with concern.

Willy nodded. "Jeanette, I really need to talk to you about something very important."

"What is it Bill?" She asked. "You look so pale."

"I need to tell you something, and I don't know where to start or if you'll even believe me once I do," he said. "Can we go some place and talk?"

"Maybe upstairs?" Jeanette said. She looked over at where Dennis had been standing, but the teenager was now gone. Feeling a strange sensation curse through her, she started to walk towards the stairwell.

Going up the stairs, she glanced back to see that he was slowly following her. As soon as they had reached the landing, she stopped and waited for him to catch up so that he could lead her into the flat. Once they had entered the now familiar dwelling, she waited for him to close the door.

Once they were alone, she turned around and looked at him. "I'm sorry I came so late, Bill. I probably should have called or something. I really didn't want to make you worry."

"I wasn't worried, Jeanette," he whispered her name as he sat down in the corner of the sofa, all the while unable to find the courage to even look at her.

"Then what is it? Did I do something wrong?" She asked, her voice carrying traces of weariness.

"No, of course not," he said. "Why would you even believe that?"

"I don't know, you sound as though something is seriously wrong. I can only conclude that it must have been something I did," she whispered as she sat down next to him. "What happened? Last night you seemed all right; now you're acting like a stranger. Bill, please tell me what is wrong, this is scaring me."

"I'm not trying to do that to you, Jeanette, but what I need to tell you has nothing to do with anything you have done, instead, it's about something I have done," he confessed.

"Something you did?" She asked.

"I'm not who you think I am. I mean; I am, but there's more to the story and I'm afraid to tell you. I'm afraid you'll hate me far more than you did after I made you lose your job." He looked away, his eyes filled with sadness.

"But I don't hate you," she whispered. "Bill, during the last few weeks, I've fallen in love with you."

He reached for one of her hands. Seeing this, she offered it to him and he spoke, his voice etched with emotion. "You have?" He asked.

She nodded numbly. "Yes. I wanted to tell you last night, but I got scared. I wasn't sure how you would react to it. I'm not very good with people."

"Neither am I," he said. "I have, you see, spent much of my life alone. You're the first person I have allowed in and you have done it with all the love and acceptance that there is." He paused and took a deep breath. "It is for that reason that I have to tell you the truth. I know that it is so wrong of me to continue living this way. Dennis told me as much before you came. But, please believe me when I tell you that everything that happened, happened because I was afraid."

"Afraid? But, Bill you're not making any sense," she spoke, her voice now filled with nervousness.

"My name is not Bill," he whispered. "I used the name for a brief period back when I was younger, it was very soon after I had become emancipated."

"Emancipated?" She whispered.

"Yes, it means that although I was a child of fifteen, I was granted rights and privileges of an adult. From that moment on, I lived as an adult would live," he explained. "I could work and do all the things that grownups did. At any rate, using that name gave off the impression that I was mature and grown up. It was during that time that I switched my family name to Thompson. That name, later became somewhat outdated, so I stopped using it. Of course, legally that is my real name, and it was the name I used when I introduced myself to you. Jeanette, Bill Thompson is not the name that I am accustomed to using or being called."

Jeanette looked at him. "Then what you're saying is you lied to me about who you are," she whispered.

"No," he said shaking his head. "I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you everything. Jeanette, the day we met, I realized that I was still not certain about what it was I was supposed to do. I wanted to meet and talk with you, but I feared that if you knew the truth about me, that you would turn away and not want to talk to me at all. Then things became even more complicated when I fell in love with you. I realized at that moment that I was still trapped in this web of deception."

"Then don't keep me sitting here wondering, just tell me who you are," she whispered.

Willy took a deep breath, but when he raised his head, he found himself looking into her eyes. "I'm…I…" his voice trailed off. "…Jeanette, I'm…Willy Wonka."


	18. Chapter 17:  Shattered Dreams

_Here I am breaking you of the cliffhanger, but there is still a question as to what will happen next going on._

_Thanks to my reviewers. There's not much else for me to say except 'enjoy' and 'grab a few tissues, 'cause something tells me you're going to need them'. _

_Thanks Nina Rouge for the heads up on the credit. It's appreciated._

_Edited, April 11, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 17: Shattered Dreams**

_"If you love someone, set them free, if they come back to you  
then they are your's. If they don't, then it was never meant  
to be."- Richard Bach_

The words hung in the air for several seconds.

Jeanette's eyes widened upon hearing his confession. She remembered the letters she had written and the words she had spoken whenever she spoke of the chocolatier. Now, she felt foolish, as though he had conned her.

She bit down on her lip, but shook her head as his confession washed over her like a warm spring rain.

"You're…" Jeanette breathed, all the while covering her mouth with both hands and shaking her head as though in denial. "…This is a joke, isn't it?"

"No, it's not a joke," he said as he pulled a peach colored letter from his pocket and handed it to her. "I would not make light of your feelings, Jeanette. But, I do have proof, just read this."

Jeanette looked down at the piece of paper as the shock overwhelmed her as she recognized her own handwriting. "Dear Mr. Wonka," she began to read, her voice cracking as memories washed over her. She recalled the day, sitting at her kitchen table and trying to compose her first letter.

"I received your letter this afternoon when I returned home. I don't really know what to say. In the wake of my father's passing…" the words faded as tears stung her eyes. She bit down on her lip as she backed away from him. "It's true…this is the letter I wrote after he…you…offered to help me."

He nodded. "Yes, and I want to explain…"

"…Explain?" She cried. "Y-you lied to me." She took a deep breath, all the while trying to keep herself from breaking down in front of him. "How could you?"

"I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was afraid," Willy said as he started to walk towards her.

She closed her eyes, all the while blocking out his unhappy looking face. "Then why did you?" She asked, but without waiting for him to respond, she continued to speak. "To make me look like a fool?"

He shook his head, but reached out to where she was standing. When his fingertips lightly brushed against her arm, he responded. "Please, let me explain," he implored.

"I c-can't," she whispered, the tears streaming down over her face. She started to stumble away from him, but as she moved away from him, she stumbled and he impulsively reached out and steadied her.

"I'm sorry, Jeanette," he managed to speak. He released his hold and watched as she ran towards the door and threw it open. He could hear her footsteps descending the stairwell until she disappeared out the front door, the sounds of the bell filtering through the shop.

Willy slowly walked towards the stairwell and descended to the ground level. When he reached the landing, Dennis raised his head from his work and watched as Willy walked with determination towards the door.

The chocolatier's eyes were now filled with tears, but he said nothing. After several seconds, he suddenly stopped and stared at the door.

Dennis could hardly believe what he was seeing. Everything he knew about Willy Wonka was a depiction of strength and self-confidence. Yet, what he was seeing now seemed so desperately out of character that he could not even stop and consider what had just taken place.

He watched as Willy shook his head, but instead of speaking about what had happened, he reached the door, his eyes now downcast.

"Where are you going?" Dennis abruptly asked; his voice filled with concern. He could not fathom the chocolatier leaving in this frame of mind. Of course, in a way, the teenager blamed himself for what had happened between his two friends.

"I have to go and find her," Willy said as he reached out for the door handle.

"You can't, she needs some time alone to sort all of this out. If you go look for her now, then you may end up making things more internally conflicting for her than they already are."

"But I love her, I can't just let her run away," Willy managed to speak.

"'If you love someone, set them free, if they come back to you, they're yours, if they don't, it was never meant to be'," Dennis said matter-of-factly. "My grandmother used to say that to me when I was little. She reminded me of the same statement when I lost my father. There's a reason for everything that happens. I have been trying to convince myself of that, but I know that it's never easy."

"You're very mature about these things," Willy said. "Sometimes I think you're older and wiser than me."

"No I'm not. It just served as a reason as to why I delved myself so much into this work," He said. "Do you honestly think I did it for my health? No, I did it to keep myself from going crazy."

"You never said anything. I assumed that you were alright," Willy said.

"I didn't want to say anything, I figured it would be selfish of me because I knew that you and Jeanette had more than your share to contend with. Aside from that, I really didn't want to talk about it," Dennis said. As he spoke, he got to his feet and slowly walked over to where his dejected friend stood. "You knew this was coming and even though I got really pissed off with you, I do admire you for having been honest."

Willy said nothing; instead, his head remained lowered. Wordlessly, Dennis put his arm around the chocolatier's shoulder. Willy raised his head briefly but lowered it, the tears that he had tried to conceal were now streaming down over his cheeks, his blue eyes filled with hopelessness. "You need to give her some time to accept what has happened. She'll come around," Dennis said comfortingly as he patted Willy's shoulder.

"I don't know if it will change anything or if she will, as you said, 'come around'," Willy whispered. "She probably hates me more than she did before all of this happened."

"I told you it wasn't going to be easy, Mr. Wonka," Dennis said.

"Don't call me that anymore, Dennis, just call me Willy," he said, but his voice was indicative that he was pretty broken up. He stared morosely at the small counter that Jeanette had spoken of only the night before. She had been so proud of her work, but he had barely even taken notice of it.

After several minutes had passed, he reached over, and patted Dennis' shoulder. "Thank you," he said, but slowly exited the shop.

The only thing that was left for him to do now was to return to the factory, to his sanctuary from the rest of the world. A normal life with a normal romance was something that was simply not written in the stars for him. He realized this with each step he took, his gaze now on the letter that was still in his hand.

Folding it, he returned it to his pocket, and continued to walk with dejected steps back in the direction of the factory.

* * *

Jeanette was openly sobbing by the time she reached her apartment building. She slowly entered, her body feeling as though it was torn into thousands of tiny pieces. The man she had fallen in love with was Willy Wonka. This one, single solitary thought seemed to be cascading through her mind as though she had been thrown head first into the eye of a hurricane.

She walked with weighted steps through the darkened hallway until she reached the stairs that would take her up to the second floor. She began to trudge her way up the stairs, tripping halfway up and finding herself on her hands and knees.

Getting back to her feet, she practically stumbled the rest of the way. At the landing she gripped the banister and clumsily got to her feet before making her way down the hallway in the direction of her front door.

As she passed by the door of Thelma and Milton Jenkins' flat, a heart-wrenching sob burst forth from her. This agonizing emotion immediately brought the older woman outside.

When Thelma peered around the door and saw Jeanette standing about a meter from her door, she spoke her name. "Jeanette?"

The younger woman stopped and turned around, her face a depiction of absolute agony. Thelma stepped away from the door and approached where she was standing. As she came closer, she could see that Jeanette's fingers were flipping through her keys trying to find the right one. Instead of finding the key to her front door, the whole set fell to the floor and landed with a thud at her feet. Leaning down, the younger woman managed to retrieve them before returning them to her pocket.

By this time, Thelma had reached her and wrapped a comforting arm around her. Pulling her into a half-embrace, she spoke. "What has happened to you dear?"

Without any sort of warning, Jeanette collapsed into the older woman's arms, the sobs wracking her body as she felt her friend tightening her hold. "Come inside." Taking her arm, she gently, but firmly, led Jeanette into the flat.

Once inside, the door was closed, and Jeanette could feel her body beginning to tremble. Instead of speaking, she kept her face pressed against Thelma's shoulder. "Did you find out something about your father?" The kindly older woman asked as she led Jeanette over to the sofa and bade her to sit down.

"N-no," she whimpered softly, the tears causing her words to emerge in soft gasps. "He's…Willy W-Wonka."

"He told you?" Thelma whispered with an approving nod. Although she was glad that the truth was finally out, she was still concerned for the state of the young woman. She seemed to have taken the news much harder than any of them could have anticipated. "Thank goodness that young man finally told you the truth," she said.

"Y-you knew?" Jeanette managed to speak.

"Yes, who do you think put the chocolate in front of your door, and delivered the two letters? He would bring them to me and ask me to do that for him because he wanted to make things easier for you. He knew that you didn't like him, and he truly understood why," she explained.

"W-why? How did you know?" The heartbroken questions emerged.

"I knew who he was from the start," Thelma said. "Milton used to work at the factory with your father. He came home one day with a picture of Willy Wonka, himself, and your father. That was the first time I had a visual image of what Mr. Wonka looked like. Some months later, I saw him at one of the events that he had hosted. This was back when you were just a little girl and too young to really understand what was going on. When he showed up here the day after your father's funeral, I knew immediately who he was and asked him what he was doing here. He told me that he wanted to contact you. He had come out of seclusion just to find you and fulfill a request your father had made of him."

Jeanette lowered her head. "Why would he do that?"

"He wasn't really sure himself," Thelma said. "He knew what all of this entailed, but he was afraid that you wouldn't give him a chance. He then made the choice of coming to see you and using another name."

"He knew that I didn't like him?" Jeanette asked weakly.

"He must have known from your father's letter that you were angry with him. At any rate, he knew that you blamed him for your lot in life, and so he decided to do this so you wouldn't throw him to the wolves. I suppose that given what you knew at the time, you had a perfectly good reason for being angry, but Mr. Wonka was never the reason for that."

"I trusted him," she whispered.

"I know, but I also know that he did what he did because he wanted you to see him as a real person. He felt that if he had gone to you and introduced himself with an objective name like Bill Thompson, then he would be better able to give you something back. He was terribly nervous that day. I remember the apprehension that he carried about feeling as though he had robbed you of a part of your life."

Thelma took a deep breath and continued speaking, her words filled with kindness. "When we made stew that night when you first started showing signs of illness, I watched him and saw a great deal of caring emanating from him back to you. He looked as though he would give his very life for you and that was when I started seeing these gradual changes that were taking place in both of you. There's something that happens to a person the first time they fall in love, and I was seeing that in both of you."

"But, Thelma, if it was all a lie, then maybe he never cared for me in the first place," Jeanette whispered. "Maybe it was just pity."

"No, there is no way that I will believe that that man's feelings were born out of pity," she shook her head. "Believe me, what I saw was very real."

"I'm afraid," Jeanette confessed.

"I know that dear, but so is he," Thelma said firmly.

"But how can he be? He's Willy Wonka," she whispered. "I'm not good enough for someone like that."

"Poppycock!" Thelma exclaimed, all the while unable to comprehend what the younger woman was saying. "He's famous, yes, there is no denying that, but this isn't about him being better than you, this is about two young people who are trying to decide if love is really in the cards for them."

"But he could do so much better," she said. "He's so handsome and kind. Why would he waste his time on some poor church mouse like me?"

"You're not what you perceive yourself to be, Jeanette," Thelma said. She reached over and touched her shoulder. "You're a pretty girl, and if Willy Wonka was this arrogant, conceited…jerk, then I would say that you deserve better, but he's not. He is not a typical tycoon, he managed to become your friend, and it's completely obvious that this man loves you. The question is: What does your heart tell you whenever someone says the name 'Willy Wonka'?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do, think for a few minutes," she said. "Doesn't it make you feel better to know that Bill and Willy are one and the same?"

"I really don't know," she repeated, her gaze now on her lap. The truth was, it did make her feel better, but she was too afraid to admit that to anyone, much less to herself.

Thelma reached over and took her face in her aged hands. She tipped it up and looked deeply into her eyes. "Tell me what you feel when I say the name 'Willy Wonka', and don't tell me that you don't know because I know perfectly well that you do. I can see it in you. I see the pain and the hurt that you feel, but only you can truly acknowledge it. Jeanette, if you cannot come clean with me, then how in the world do you expect to admit it to him?"

Jeanette closed her eyes. "I-I love him," she eventually whispered, her voice cracking. "I want to be with him, but how can I? We're from two different worlds."

"How can you not?" Thelma asked. "You should love a man for who he is, not for what he does. Willy Wonka is the greatest candy maker the world, yes that much is true. My goodness, you have been given a gift, something invaluable and very special. It is so wonderful and priceless that you can't even imagine how unique it truly is."

"But he's famous, and I'm…" she whispered, her voice trailing until she found the courage to continue speaking. "…Well look at me. I'm nothing more than just this lovesick fool who fawns over a richer, older, and more sophisticated man."

"The answer is not clear, perhaps he sees in you something that has changed him for the better. He has clearly chosen you, Jeanette. Willy Wonka and Bill Thompson are the same person. Does the love you share mean less now that you know the truth?" Thelma asked.

"It shouldn't, should it?" Jeanette asked.

"No," Thelma said firmly. "If you love him, then let that love carry you as far away from reality as you can get, but at the same time, let it keep you secure and balanced in that moment."

"But, he's gone," Jeanette whispered. "I got scared and shouted at him before I ran away from him. He was going to explain and I didn't want to hear it, I got angry and…" her voice trailed. "…H-he probably doesn't want to see me again."

Thelma looked into the eyes of the younger woman. "Why don't you go back to the place that you first experienced those feelings? Go back to where everything was catalyzed for both of you."

"Y-you mean, the factory?" Jeanette whispered.

"Yes. Even if one or both of you decides to move on after this, the only thing that is truly left for you to do is return to the place where it all started. Take another letter to him, tell him what is in your heart, and let him come to you," she said. "No matter what you do, Jeanette, you will always have a choice."

She lowered her head, the tears once more streaming down over her face.

Thelma wrapped her arms around the young woman and held her while she cried.


	19. Chapter 18: Jeanette's Final Letter

_Author's Note: Here's another chapter of this one for you. I hope you are enjoying the story. I have an idea swimming about in my head for a sequel story to this. I wanted to toss out the prospect of a sequel, but wanted to ask first of all if you would read a sequel story if I wrote it? There are two things that you would probably need to know about it if I decided to write it._

_Edit...M-rated story idea has been completely axed! If there is a sequel to this, then it will be a T-rated story and right now there's not much a chance of that happening. Of course, I'm leaning more towards the once it's done, then it's done concept. Sequels never really go over as good as the original idea anyway. Thanks to 'Jousting Elf with a Sabre' for giving me your thoughts on this, I was sort of leaning towards that conclusion anyway..._

_Now for the other comments._

_Canangelscry, glad you like the update. It was a relief that you thought it was good. I wasn't sure how to have her react to his confession, so I am glad I played the impulse with regard to it._

_Nina Rouge, I wanted this story to feel real, but I am glad that the quotation was useful or thought provoking. I used to have a laminated poster with a cat on it that said those words, but couldn't remember the person who said them…so if anyone knows the original person who said that, let me know, either in a review or a PM and I'll add a disclaimer._

_YA YA, glad you like._

_LA Suka, this was a bit harder for me to write because we all know the hero and of course we want nothing bad to happen to him. What I pretty much had to do was stop and consider if one of us were in Jeanette's situation, would we throw ourselves in Willy's arms and say I forgive you for lying to me? In writing this, I had to try and give her a realistic and human response to what had happened._

_Oh well, moving on, please read and review._

_Edited April 11, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 18: Jeanette's Final Letter**

Later that same day, Jeanette left her flat and ventured outside. She had cried for much of the afternoon, but after leaving Thelma's and returning home, her first intention was to try and concentrate long enough to write out her feelings.

She had spent much of the day trying to follow Thelma's advice and write Willy a letter. The words did not initially come, in fact, there were moments where she was simply not sure if what she was doing had actually been right.

The hardest part was the realization that for the longest time, Bill and Willy had been like two separate people. That had made things easier for her, but now that she knew the truth, she felt a monumental amount of confusion and sadness. Why this had been so difficult for her to decipher seemed to remain a mystery.

At any rate, the letter she had painstakingly written was now held tightly in her hand, the same peach colored stationary peering out from between the young woman's fingers.

The crisp air that met her as she came outside the building made her shiver. Although she had cried much of the day, she could still feel the tears that glistened beneath her eyes. Biting down on her lip, she somehow felt an overwhelming braveness take hold of her heart and force her to venture forward.

The sky's colors seemed to fade from a cheerful blue, to soothing hues of purples, pinks, and oranges as dusk fell. It grew cooler, but still she walked slowly in the direction of the factory, her footsteps tapping softly against the pavement as though in steady rhythm to the gentle beating of her heart.

By the time she had reached the front gate of the factory, her face was streaked with tears. She wove her hands between the steel bars that separated her from the factory grounds, her gaze now on the smokestacks that peered up from between the various buildings. She hoped, or better yet, prayed that he would be watching her from some window in the confines of the factory. Yet, as dusk had befallen London, she could tell that even if he had been watching, she would never know.

She wanted so desperately to see him, but she knew that she had probably blown any chance of finding resolution with him. She longed to know what he was thinking or where specifically in the factory he was.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, the words emerging barely audibly, but cracking as they filled her own ears. "Please forgive me."

The coolness of the breeze encompassed her as she released the iron bars and wrapped her arms around herself. She bit down on her lip as she felt goose bumps lining them.

Instead of continuing to speak, she carefully pulled the envelope from the pocket of her coat. She stared down at it for several moments, all the while turning it over and hastily kissing it before lifting the latch to the mailbox and dropping it inside. The pain she carried in the recesses of her heart still felt very much the same as it did the day that she had delivered the letter from her father.

Closing her eyes, she backed away from the mailbox, but returned to the gate, and stared dejectedly into the courtyard. As she stood there, she did not notice that a young blond-headed boy had approached and was now standing behind her.

"Miss, are you alright?" The boy's voice abruptly broke into her thoughts.

"I'm fine," she said as she turned around and regarded the innocent face of the child that stood before her. He looked to be about eleven or twelve-years-old and was dressed in a blue turtleneck shirt and ragged looking beige pants. A worn out satchel hung casually over his shoulder, thus indicating that he had taken a job delivering newspapers. "Do you come to the factory often?" She asked, trying all the while to divert the focus from herself back to the boy.

"Every day," he said. "It lies between where I live and my school."

"What do you think of when you walk by here?" She asked curiously.

"I think about the smell," the boy said honestly and as if to put emphasis on that point, he inhaled. "It always smells so good here, as though Mr. Wonka is making something very special for all of us."

"What do you think of when you think of Willy Wonka?" She asked, her voice cracking as she repeated the words Thelma had asked her when the two of them had spoken.

"I wonder what he's like as a person," the boy said. He glanced towards the smokestacks and shrugged his shoulders. "I ask myself if he ever feels lonely inside that huge factory or if he wishes that he had a friend that he could confide in like I can whenever I talk to my Grandpa Joe."

Jeanette nodded, but instead of looking at the child, she lowered her head and felt the tears as they spilled down over her cheeks. Before she could respond to the child's statement, he looked at her. "I don't mean to sound rude, but you look like you lost your best friend."

Jeanette bit down on her lip. "My best friend…" Her words trailed as she cast a final glance back up at the factory. "…I think maybe I have."

"I'm sorry," the child said. "Best friends are hard to come by."

"Yes," she said trying to sound braver than she felt. "You're right, they are."

"My name's Charlie, what's yours?" He asked, but extended his hand.

"Jeanette," she said and accepted the boy's outstretched hand.

Once they shook hands, Charlie glanced up at the clock that was not too far from where they were standing. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime," he said. "I'd stay and talk longer but have to get home, my family is waiting for me."

"Then you should go, don't keep them waiting," she said, her voice cracking. "A family is very important thing to have."

"I think so too," he said. "Bye, Jeanette."

"Bye, Charlie," she whispered but returned to her silent vigil at the gate. Maybe if I wait long enough, he might come out, like he did that other time, she thought as she sat down on the cold cement and waited.

After having waited close to an hour, the realization hit her that Willy Wonka would not be coming out. I probably hurt him beyond recognition, she thought sadly, but got to her feet and started to walk back in the direction of the subway. It was now time for her to go home and try and get on with the rest of her life.

If only the prospect of doing that did not seem so difficult.

* * *

The following evening, Willy was seated in his office. He had gone through that day as though in a daze.

Instead of going to Cherry Street and working with Dennis on the remodeling work, he decided to stay home. Of course, he did not get much accomplished because he felt so poorly. He realized a long time ago that any attempts at candy making when he was unhappy or miserable would turn out poorly. After about an hour of lackadaisical attempts, he explained to his devoted workers that he was taking the rest of the day off and left the Inventing Room.

This factory had always been a sort of sanctuary for the chocolatier, but now he felt as though he was a prisoner to his own invention. He remembered the conversation with Thelma Jenkins about family, and how he was sorely lacking in that. He missed the feeling of having people around him who cared for him, and he missed Jeanette's open honesty as well as her trust.

As his thoughts continued to drift, he was reminded of the letters that Jeanette had written to him. He picked up the letter that lay at the top of the small stack on his desk. He must have read these words more than a dozen times, their cadence literally swimming through his mind as he once more unfolded the piece of paper and looked down at it. He had received this letter a little over a week ago. It had been an apology for the letter where she had spoken of her illness. Now he wondered if the words were still the truth.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Wonka,_

_I wanted to write you and tell you that I'm sorry for unloading on you about the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. The truth is, I was scared and perhaps I reacted in the only way I could think of. I know that you are not responsible for me, but you have been so kind to me and very much like the friend that my father had believed in._

_Although I am sometimes very sad, things are improving for me and I am doing better. I am really happy that I have found a friend in you, but I have also met someone who has given me more than I could ever wish for. I don't know if I'm in love with him, but in my heart, I know that he is a blessing to me._

_Now that I have come to accept that I have friends, it feels good._

_Fondly,_

_Jeanette_

* * *

He lowered the piece of paper as he closed his eyes, his elbows now resting casually on the desk. He seemed not to notice that the Oompa Loompa's gadget that collected the mail had actually worked. Inside the box, a letter in peach colored stationary lay untouched.

After what felt like an eternity, the chocolatier stood up, approached the box, and opened it. Peering inside, he discovered the letter that rested there.

He reached inside, pulled it out, and carefully opened it. His hands were trembling as he pulled out the single piece of paper and unfolded it. As he stared down at the writing, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

Splashed across the page were dried out drops of moisture that he guessed had been tears. He swallowed as he looked down at the letter, the words literally jumping out at him.

This letter was shorter than everything Jeanette had written thus far, the handwriting looking cramped, the pain completely evident in her words. In the paper he could see various indentures of previous attempts, the words indecipherable, but the fear and pain reaching out and shaking him to the core. It seemed obvious that she had put more thought into this message than in all the messages combined.

* * *

_Dearest WW,_

_I love you! Please forgive me…_

_Yours forever,_

_Jeanette_

* * *

He stared at the words that were written on the page. She had not written the name Bill, instead she had written the secret code that he had used when he had written her the two letters that he had sent. "Oh Jeanette," he whispered her name, a small smile abruptly gracing his lips. "I have to see you, tonight." He got up from the desk, reached for his purple colored coat and grabbed the top hat that was sitting on the stand.

Leaving the cane behind, he cast a glance towards the clock on the wall. It read nine thirty. He wondered if it was too late for him to go and see her, but his heart told him to go, and this time he followed that particular impulse.

Nothing else seemed to matter to him at this point. He closed the door to the office and raced down the hallway towards the garage where a number of cars were parked. Choosing the most inconspicuous of the lot, he opened it and climbed behind the wheel. The top of his hat hit against the ceiling of the car, so he deposited it on the passenger seat.

Seconds later, he started the car and drove off the factory grounds without looking back.

It took about ten minutes for him to reach the familiar building where Jeanette lived. He parked the car before digging in his pocket, pulling out a pocket watch, and opening the cover. It read that was nearly ten, and from the look of the sky overhead, the darkness had descended on the city.

Before getting out, he looked up to where her window was and noticed that the light was still on. She's still awake, his heart practically leapt into his throat. Reaching for his top hat, he got out of the car. He put on his hat, closed the car, and locked it before walking slowly towards the building.

Reaching the main door, he opened it and slipped quietly inside the dimly lit hallway.

He was nervous by the time he reached the second floor and was making his way down the hall towards Jeanette's front door.

When he reached it, he inhaled sharply, reached over, and rang her doorbell.


	20. Chapter 19: To Be Loved

_Author's Note: OK, folks, here's another update on this. I really don't want to leave you nice folks hanging._

_Based on the reviews from the last chapter, the M-rated story idea has been officially or unofficially (whatever you prefer) axed. If I do end up writing a sequel (not bloody likely) then I will keep it as a T-rated story so that you don't end up getting turned off. But yes, the idea of the adult story has been axed, although there is a small scene that sort of implies something more than kissing coming up, but nothing at all descriptive, in fact, it can't be too much so since it's only half a page (if that) with a scene break. I tend to leave more to the imagination when I write, so no one gets embarrassed or feels uncomfortable by something I write._

_At any way, I have taken the two people's wishes who made their opinions known about that idea to heart and so the idea is going to be axed, and I've no intention of writing anything of the kind anytime soon. Some things are just best left unsaid, me thinks._

_YA YA and Jousting Elf with a Sabre, thanks for your honest responses to that particular question, your help made me decide rather quickly to axe the idea, so thanks for your honesty, it's appreciated more than you know.  
_

_Nina Rouge, thanks for the Richard Bach name. I should have known that as 'Jonathan Livingston Seagull' is one of my favorite books. So, thanks for that. I did add a notation to chapter 17. So that's greatly appreciated too._

_Canangelscry, is this a quick enough rectification for the cliffhanger? Here's hoping it meets with your approval. _

_LA Suka, yes, cool off time always does a world of good._

_Now for the next update…keep those reviews coming in. Maybe when this one is done, you guys will not mind checking out my epic story while I figure out what the heck I'm going to write next. Teehee._

_Enjoy!_

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**Chapter 19: To Be Loved**

Jeanette had been sitting on the sofa staring at the wall. At that moment, she felt completely miserable; but had felt that way for most of the day. Her thoughts seemed to constantly be on the fact that she had written and delivered a final note to Willy Wonka's factory the night before.

She knew that her confession had probably left very little impact, as it had been well over a day since she had delivered it, and had received no response. She concluded that it was probably too late for her. She made the decision that morning that instead of going to work and possibly facing Willy, she would stay home and go through some more of her father's papers. It had been painful, but it did not even match the heartache that she was experiencing because of what had happened with Willy.

The hour since she had returned from her grocery shopping trip seemed to lull her into a sort of trance. Contrary to what people might have assumed, she had not eaten anything upon her return. Instead, she simply put everything away and returned to her place on the sofa.

When she eventually noticed that it was closing in on ten in the evening, she showered and got dressed for bed. Her hair was still damp, but she did not care. Instead of wrapping her head in a towel, she simply used her bathrobe as a makeshift blanket and sat with it draped over her lap on the sofa. She felt cold and isolated. Although she had made herself some of the cocoa, the cup still sat untouched on the coffee table.

At that precise moment, the doorbell rang.

Slowly, she got to her feet and put her robe on. Tying it closed, she approached the front door. Carefully, she unlocked it and pulled it open.

When she recognized Willy Wonka standing on the step, she gasped. She wanted nothing more than to impulsively throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness, yet, she knew that she could not even do that.

Instead of immediately speaking, she stood staring up at him. His strange mode of dress seemed the most natural thing in the world. In fact, if Jeanette had not felt as confused and unhappy as she was, she would probably had said that he looked more real in that outfit than in anything else she had seen him in. The orangey brown colored top hat reminded her of the soothing color of caramel candy. For all that she was worth, she could not stop herself from admiring the hat that seemed to be perched atop his curly locks of hair.

"W-what are you doing here?" She eventually spoke, her question an insecure stammer.

"I got your note," he said. "May I come in?"

"Uh…" she tried to speak but when the words did not come, she simply backed clumsily away from the door and allowed him to come inside. As he entered her living room, he removed the hat and closed the door as if in a single motion.

Jeanette bit down on her lip as she tried to speak once again. "I…" her voice trailed and she could feel the tears that were now stinging her eyes. "I…don't know what to say," she finally managed to speak, the words coming out in a rush.

"You don't have to say anything," he said as he placed his hat on the table closest to the front door. She shyly lowered her head, but soon felt his hands carefully cupping her face. He tipped it up and looked down into her eyes.

"I'm s-sorry," she managed to speak, her words broken. "I'm so sorry." Somewhere there came crying and although she did not know from where the tears had come, they were present and she had no control over them.

"Please don't cry," Willy said, but as these words emerged, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, all the while trying to wipe away the tears. At the same instant, he could instinctively tell that she was in inexpressible pain.

He put his arm around her and led her over to the sofa. "Here, sit down," he said gently.

She did as he indicated, her body trembling.

"You need to get warm, you're freezing to death," he said and without warning, he took off his purple coat and wrapped it around her. "Is that better?"

She nodded her fingers gripping the sides of the coat and pulling it closer against her cold body.

"There's something I have to show you." He reached into the pocket of his pants and produced a small laminated card. This he handed to her.

"W-what is it?" She asked. She released her hold on the coat so that she could accept the object being offered. As soon as she held it, she looked down at it. It looked to be an official identification card like the one she carried. The name on the card read 'William Thompson'. She read it before looking over at him. "T-that's you," she whispered. "You didn't lie."

"No, but I didn't tell the truth either," he said. "Jeanette, I was born William Wonka, and when I was fifteen, I changed my name to Thompson, and never changed it back. You see, my father…" his voice trailed for a moment, his fist clenching somewhat as anger filled him.

After a second, he recomposed himself and continued. "…My father couldn't stand the idea of having a son who wanted to make candy. He left me on my own when he realized that he couldn't change me. That was when I became emancipated. Later, I started the business…"

"…On Cherry Street?" She interrupted.

"That's right," he nodded. "After I opened the shop, I decided to use my birth name as an artist's name. It's rather hard to explain, but a lot of people do this to maintain a sense of anonymity, and I figured that it would be a good idea for me as well."

As he spoke, she started to hand the card back to him, but he pointed to the small notation at the bottom corner of the card. There the name 'Willy Wonka' was visible. "You see; this is how I can leave the factory, and walk around like a normal person. I just use my legal name."

"It sounds like a dual personality or something," she managed to speak, but lowered her head. "I was thinking all this time that you had played me for a fool."

"No," Willy said with an adamant shake of his head. "Don't ever believe that even for a moment."

"But what should I believe? I don't even know if you're lying or telling the truth," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I fell in love with you as Bill, and now you're someone else and I don't know if my feelings are real or if they're even right." She handed the card back to him and watched as he returned it to his pocket.

"Jeanette, everything I told you, about my life, my family, and what I feel for you has been the truth. I love you very much. Meeting you has changed my life for the better," Willy said as he put a comforting arm around her and pulled her gently against him, her face was now brushing against his bowtie.

She bit down on her lip and then raised her head and looked at him. "Y-you hurt me."

"I know I did, and I'm deeply sorry for that," he closed his eyes for several seconds.

"Why did you do it?" She asked.

"Because I wanted to know what it felt like to share a normal friendship. When your father's letter arrived, I started digging through the file room at the factory. I was finding all kinds of information, things that I did not want to know anything about, but things that were there, evident everywhere I looked. I saw your father's words about you and I wanted to do something that would make things right for you." He took a deep breath. "I need to take you there and show you everything. I know that I, at least, owe you that. Would you be willing to come back with me?"

"T-to the factory?" She whispered. "Now?"

He nodded. "Jeanette, I want you to know the whole truth, even if you never want to see me again. You need to know much more than the words contained in a few letters. You need to know the truth about your father's actions and why he made these choices. This is the same truth that Thelma Jenkins told me as well as what you yourself had said about him. This was why I came to see you that first day when I was carrying all that laundry. I didn't know that I was going to fall in love or feel a sense of family with you that I had long since been denied."

She swallowed, but could suddenly feel her body beginning to shake as she looked at him and saw a pair of loving blue eyes gazing back at her. "I wrote that letter, and I said that I love you, but I don't even know what to call you," she whispered as she allowed herself to collapse weeping into his embrace.

Instead of immediately speaking, he touched her face with his fingertips and she raised her chin so that she could look into his eyes. "Call me William or Willy, just don't call me Bill anymore," he said.

She nodded, but somewhere she found her voice and spoke. "I should still be angry with you, but I'm not, and I can't understand why."

"I don't know why, either, but if it makes you feel any better, I am quite angry with myself for having been such a coward. I should have told you the truth long before now. I'm so deeply sorry that I hurt you, Jeanette." He began to kiss her face, the tears that washed down over her cheeks meshing with his mouth. After several seconds, he found himself kissing her lips.

Instead of fighting against the urges that enfolded her, she wrapped her arms around him, her lips still pressed against his. She did not mind being kissed at all, in fact, the kiss was wonderful; the taste a strange combination of breath mints, chocolate, and cinnamon. It was the sweetest taste she had ever known.

As the kiss deepened, she suddenly felt the most overwhelming longing curse through her. Without realizing what she as doing, her hands moved from his upper back to meshing into the softness of his hair. She had wanted to touch these soft spring-like coils since the first day she met him. Contrary to their appearance of coarseness, they seemed to carry the smoothness of the finest silk in the world.

After several moments had passed, the kiss broke and she felt herself unconsciously licking her lips in the hope of capturing that lingering flavor.

"I feel like I'm a different person when I'm with you," he said, his arms still holding her close to him. "I usually know what I need to do or how to do it. I can tell people what to do, and have never second-guessed myself. I suppose I have left you with the impression that I don't know how to tell the truth or be honest. I really do know, because these last few weeks have given me the chance to truly be honest with myself. Finding you has been like finding this great treasure, and I want nothing more than to hold on to it and never let it go."

"I-is that why you stopped writing to me?" She asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "I wanted nothing more than to tell you the truth and let you see me for who I really am."

"Maybe I did see you," she said. "I just didn't realize it."

"Does this mean that I'm forgiven?" He asked, his blue eyes staring intently into hers.

"Just don't do it again," she managed to speak, her voice cracking. "I don't want to run away from you again…Willy."

"I don't want you to either," he said.

She lowered her head, but shyly reached over and touched his bowtie. "It sounds strange for me to call you that after everything that has happened."

"It's nice to finally hear it," he said honestly.

"C-can I ask you something?" She asked.

"You can ask me anything you want."

"How did you feel when you had to fire them?" She asked.

"I felt sickened by it," he said truthfully. "I had lost my trust in the world, and to some extent in myself. I remember the day rather clearly. When I found out that I had been betrayed, it was as though all the wounds and pain that dwelled in my heart were coming full circle. I never realized how my actions had left an impact until I met you. I had heard so much about people blaming me for their problems after I closed the factory, but I never imagined for even a moment that I would actually meet one of them. I never stopped to consider that they could touch my life as you have done."

"I blamed you for so much, and yet, you still wanted to be my friend," she said weakly. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," he said. "I think that given what you knew at the time, it was justified." He smiled as he ran his hand gently through her hair. "There's so much I want to tell you, but can't do that so well here. We have to go back."

"Back?" She asked. "Is that where you took me when I got sick?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It was the only thing I could think of to do. I didn't want to take any chances, so I took you to the factory and let my doctor take care of you."

"It's so strange, but I don't even remember ever coming or going," she mused. "What did you do?"

"I gave you something that would encourage you to sleep," he said. "It was an invention of mine that did not have any lasting side effects, but it did help me to keep my secret just a little bit longer. I wasn't ready to explain all of this while you were sick. I knew it seemed rather unfair at the time, but I figured that it would have been more prudent for you to concentrate on getting well as opposed to coping with all of this."

"Why didn't you just tell me at the beginning who you were?" She asked. "Why did you go through all this extra trouble because of me?"

"I was afraid that if I went up to you and told you who I was that you wouldn't want to have anything to do with me," he confessed. "I knew that you were angry with me through your father's letter, but also through my conversation with Thelma."

"You really felt badly about all of that?" She asked.

"Yes, your father wrote about what you'd been through and I wanted to meet you myself and find out what kind of person you are…" his voice trailed off.

"…You said you loved me," she whispered.

"I truly do," he nodded. "Jeanette, you're the one person who lets me be real, but who also lets me see the world as it truly is. I wouldn't have been able to do that on my own."

"Please don't think I'm stupid, but I still don't understand," she said sadly.

Willy took a deep breath and looked at her. "You let me into your world. You gave me the feeling of being a part of a family. I have always felt important because of what I do, but I have never felt needed in the way that you made me feel. I wanted to find someone who could love me for me, not for the factory or the Golden Tickets. Jeanette, you shared that with me and it is something that holds far more worth than anything I could create with my own two hands."

Jeanette took a deep breath. "That's really beautiful."

Instead of responding, he stood up, but without any sort of warning, he picked her up in his arms. "It's all true, nothing rehearsed, nothing pretentious."

In response to this, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. "I love you," her words emerged, but they were muffled.

"Look at me and say that again, please," he said.

She raised her head and looked at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he said as he leaned closer to her and kissed her waiting lips. After a moment, he lowered her to the floor, his arms still wrapped around her. "We should go now."

Jeanette nodded, but her gaze was still locked with his. "Would you think poorly of me if I told you that I'm a bit scared of going there?" She asked softly.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't know, maybe because it seems more like something out of a dream than reality. I don't want that dream to ever end."

"It won't ever end, Jeanette. I don't think that there is a chance for it to." He ran his hand through her hair and touched her face. "I promise, no matter how many candy bars I make, and how much fame I attain, there is nothing in this world that will take my heart out of your hands."

Jeanette looked at him, her eyes filled with joy. "I believe you, Willy."

"Then we must get on, we have so much time and so little to do…" His voice trailed off when he heard soft giggle emerging from her.

"…Don't you mean; we have so little time and so much to do?" She asked impishly.

"Didn't I say that?" He asked, but cocked his head to one side.

"No, you reversed it," she smiled, but wrapped her arm around him.

"Well, you say it your way, and I'll say it mine," he started to lead her towards the front door.

"Can we go after I get dressed?" She asked.

Instead of speaking, he scooped her up in his arms and looked down into her face. "Maybe I love that look on you, and if I am going to go out dressed like this, you can humor me," he said smiling coyly.

"I don't want to leave in my pajamas," she whispered.

He lowered her to the ground. "You can go change, then."

Jeanette nodded nervously before disappearing into her room.


	21. Chapter 20: A Dream's Manifestation

_Author's notes: This story, if you haven't noticed yet is starting to wind its way down. I have another chapter after this one and then an epilogue. What I intend to write next remains to be seen. Aside from working on 'In Another's Eyes', I have other things that I would like to write. _

_I do have an idea for a story about one of Charlie's classmates, which I think will be the next story. Since this is when Charlie is a child, there won't be any romance to speak of, but I still think the idea is a pretty good one. The premise should be about friendship and trust, so I will have to see what comes of that._

_Canangelscry, glad you like, and I think the sequel idea is gone. It would have to be good, and I don't want to write a sequel just to write a sequel. Of course, anything I write is going to be a positive reflection on the story (or in this case, the 71 movie, because that's generally where my 'inspiration' comes from.)_

_Jaz7, thanks for the encouragement, and I hope any future Wonka stories I write will catch your attention._

_YA YA, yes I did get that DVD with the Gene Wilder interview and thought that was such a great angle to go on with this. I think that whole concept is much deeper than he probably knew at the time, but yes, it's a wonderful thing. I always remember the line 'What a legacy!' Yes, most definitely!_

_Well, enjoy the latest chapter…it is rather fluffy, but I rather like it. Please read and review._

_Edited April 12, 2008._

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**Chapter 20: A Dream's Manifestation**

Jeanette and Willy arrived at the factory about an hour later. He parked the car in the factory's garage and cut the motor. As he did, Jeanette stared out through the back of the garage and into the large, open courtyard. "This all seems so hard to believe," she whispered under her breath.

Willy smiled. "Belief consists in accepting the affirmations of the soul; Unbelief, in denying them."

"Who said that?" She asked.

"Ralph Waldo Emerson," he said. "At least I think that's who it was. I read it in a book some time ago, and simply committed it to memory."

Jeanette looked back at him. "It's true though," she mused. "Maybe that's why I'm kind of scared of taking that next step. I may one day wake up and find myself back in my flat, alone and staring at the wall."

The chocolatier entwined his fingers with hers. "You will discover nothing if you stand here staring at it." He started to lead her away, but she stopped suddenly. "What is it?"

"I can't," she whispered. Her face looked as though she was about to start crying, and he could not understand why.

"Why not?" He asked gently.

"I'm afraid that you'll think that this is what I wanted the whole time, to see the things that Papa saw…" her voice trailed, and when she tried to find the words, she failed.

"…I don't think that about you, Jeanette," he said gently. "Perhaps it is selfish of me to say, but it would truly mean to world to me to share this place with you. I want to let you fulfill that dream that you carry in the depths of your spirit. I know that you are anxious about this, but I also know that this is not the reason why you wrote me those letters."

She nodded and allowed him to lead her towards a door. As soon as they reached it, Willy released her hand before pulling a keychain from his pocket. Shifting the various keys about, he found the one he needed and stuck it in the lock before turning it. The door opened and he ushered her quickly through before closing and locking it behind them.

As soon as they were inside, he once more reached for her hand and led her down the corridor. After several minutes, he stopped and took a deep breath as he turned around. "So, here we are. First, we must stop by my office, and then we can go to my quarters, as that is where everything is that I want you to see."

She nodded, but started to take in the corridor where they now stood. If she was not with him, she was certain that she would be afraid, although for the life of her, she could not figure out why.

Willy led her through a winding and twisting corridor until they reached a door with a monumental amount of gold writing on it. Before she could even read one of the words, he opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

As they came in, the first thing she noticed was that everything in the office was cut in half. Half a clock was ticking on the wall, half a typewriter sat on top of half a filing drawer. How could this stuff even work? She asked herself, but watched as he went over to the desk and picked up several peach colored envelopes.

She swallowed when she recognized them to be her letters.

He brought them over to her. "This letter is what made me come to see you." He said as he handed it to her. She looked down at it and noticed that it was the last letter she had written.

"I was afraid to say it, but I wanted to," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Yet you found the courage, through writing it down," he said.

She nodded. "Maybe."

He touched her cheek gently. "Thank you, my dear," he said sincerely. "Now, we must be off." He offered her his arm and when she accepted it, he continued speaking. "This way please."

Jeanette allowed him to lead her out of the office. After winding their way through several more dark passageways, they reached a second door.

Willy pressed down on the lever and allowed the door to swing open. He then ushered her into the room and closed the door behind them.

The first thing that she noticed was that this room was neat and orderly. What looked to be closets filled with clothing were closed and on the bed was a pile of papers. "I don't wish to seem forward, but everything I needed was in here," he said as he went over and sat down on the bed.

Jeanette nodded, but at this point, she didn't care about that. She walked slowly over to the bed and sat down beside him. Her head, she rested against his shoulder, thus causing him to stop what he was doing and turn to face her.

"Are you trying to distract me?" He asked, his expression filled with mock seriousness. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her gently into his embrace.

She closed her eyes for a moment, but managed to speak, her voice now wavering nervously. "I'm a little scared of what it is you want to show me. I know it's going to be painful, and maybe I'm trying to distract you just a little." She lowered her arms and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but this is hard."

The chocolatier nodded but smiled reassuringly at her. "Don't apologize for that, Jeanette," he said softly. Instead of speaking further, he began to run his hand through her hair. By doing this, he managed to shove it out of her eyes. "I know that this is not going to be easy for you. It would also seem that it is just as easy for me to get distracted as it is for you." As he spoke, his expression took on a faraway look.

She leaned towards him and shyly pressed her lips against his.

Willy responded immediately by returning the kiss. What happened next took them both by surprise. The pressure of her weight against him caused him to fall back against the soft blankets. Instead of releasing her, he brought her with him. As her body collapsed into his arms, she relaxed as she felt herself cushioned up against him. As they were falling, Willy's top hat flew off his head and landed with a thud on the floor.

"Willy," she whispered his name, her head still resting against his chest, the sounds of his heartbeat filling her ear. "I truly do love you."

The chocolatier smiled upon hearing these words, but he also felt the tears brimming from beneath his eyes. "I love you, too, Jeanette," he whispered, but without thinking, he spoke, his next question surprising them both. "Would you ever consider coming and living here with me? Make the factory your home."

"Home?" She whispered somewhat surprised. She did not want to admit to him that this huge place intimidated her, although she figured that he could almost infer that it did. At the same time, she internally knew that to love Willy was to love his vast creation. She took a deep breath. "You want me to come and live here?" She asked meekly.

"Yes, it would make me very happy if you were to come here to stay," he said. "I don't want us to be separated."

"I don't think we ever will be," she said affectionately. After several moments of quiet contemplation, she took a deep breath and began to speak, her words filled with fondness. "I don't think I could come and live here yet. Willy, I have to find a way to make my life work in the real world."

"This is the real world, Jeanette, it's just an extension of it," he objected.

She smiled at him. "I know that you want only my best, but this is your home and I need time to adapt to it." She touched his face. "Your childhood is really not over yet. Don't ever let it be, then you won't be embittered about things like I am."

Willy took a deep breath, his disappointment showing. "I understand, you don't want to come here. I probably shouldn't have asked you that, should I? It's too soon."

"You have every right to," she said softly, but took his hand tightly in hers and kissed it ceremoniously. "I love you more than I can say, but I want to find my place in the world. Please don't be upset with me, but right now, I think the place where I belong is at my father's old flat. I know that this sounds harsh and wrong of me, but there are so many things that I could have done differently and now I'm getting the chance to do them as was intended," She closed her eyes. "I want to know what life is really supposed to be about; to live out there." Abruptly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. "Willy, I want to work at something that I love and not have to do things out of obligation or because of someone else's expectations."

"I never expected anything of you, Jeanette," he said softly. "I just asked."

"I know you don't, but Willy, right now everything is happening so fast, and I don't know what it is I should do. I mean; I know what I want, but I don't know how to formulate it without fear of hurting you anymore than I already have," she said.

"Just tell me what it is you want," he said softly.

"I want to have a normal relationship with you," she said softly and raised her head. "I-I don't need a fairy tale ending, I just want to have you in my life and can't imagine what I would do without you. At the same time, I need time to adjust myself to all these changes," she paused, her words still hanging in the air. She looked around the room where they were sitting. "I know that this is probably the most magical and wonderful place in the entire world because you created it that way. But Willy, I-I didn't fall in love with your factory, I fell in love with you."

"At first I was afraid that you could have wanted more," he confessed.

"I guess some people might have, but that was what scared me to death," she said honestly. "When I found out the truth about you, I was terrified."

"Terrified?" He asked. "That seems rather harsh, Jeanette. Why would you feel terrified?"

She lowered her head, all the while biting down on her lip.

Willy eventually took her face in his hands and spoke. "Tell me, I won't be angry with you for your honesty."

"But I was angry with you for yours," she faltered.

"You said you were terrified, that's not anger, that's something completely different," he said calmly. "Jeanette, just tell me. If you don't, then there is no way I can elucidate or remedy the situation."

She closed her eyes. "I-I got scared because I started to wonder how someone like you could ever love someone like me," she paused as her next words emerged, her voice trembling uncontrollably. "I'm not beautiful or perfect, I'm just..."

"…Unique, distinctive, and one of a kind," he said decisively. "I don't want a perfect girlfriend, Jeanette, I want you, just as you are."

"You make me feel so special," she sniffed.

"It's because you are," he said sincerely. "You're very special. You mustn't believe otherwise. That was not the reason I did what I did. I never intended for you to feel inferior."

She nodded, but kept her head lowered. "I didn't want to run away from you. I just got so scared and started wondering what would have happened if the press had found out. They would no doubt have said that I was a gold-digger."

"What they say isn't important, I know that you're not," he said gently.

"The first thought that entered my mind after you told me was: 'Oh God, he's going to reject me now. I may have been good enough for a few laughs, but I was not good enough for someone as extraordinary as him.' I wanted to leave before any of that could happen."

"That's why you ran away," he said with an affirming nod. "You truly believed that I would turn away from you after telling you the truth?" Once she nodded, he shook his head. "Oh Jeanette, I could never have done that."

She kept her head lowered. "It was silly, wasn't it?"

"Any assumption like that is silly, yes," he said adamantly. "I am still the same person you met that day at the laundry house. Since you're being so honest with me, I should tell you that I was afraid as well."

"You were? I mean; you're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" She asked shyly.

"No, I assure you, I truly felt the very same way," he said, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "I really thought you knew that."

Jeanette closed her eyes. "You're…"

"…In love with you, yes," he said earnestly as he touched her lips, his gentle fingers tracing the outline of her mouth.

"I didn't mean that, I meant…" she tried to speak, but her voice trailed off. She could still feel the tears, but soon felt his hand move away from her lips and his mouth replaced it, the gentle pressure the most magical feeling that she could imagine. She suddenly melted against him, her body immediately responding to the pressure of his kiss.

At this moment, the words that she had intended to speak were completely forgotten as she allowed her mouth to slowly open to him. As she did, she almost giggled when she heard him softly moaning her name. As his velvet-like tongue intertwined with hers, she could feel his hands meshing into her hair.

After several moments had passed, he took a deep breath and exhaled, his gaze never faltering. "What have you done to me?" He whispered with a small smile as he took her hand and pressed it against his chest. Beneath her touch, she could feel that his heartbeat was practically hammering against his chest.

She shook her head but started to laugh softly. "I don't know." She stared up at him, her eyes closing as her next words emerged. "I only know that I would be lying if I didn't say that your kisses are sweeter than all the chocolate in the world."

Upon hearing those words, he chuckled softly. "I'm afraid that someone's already come up with chocolate kisses, my love," he whispered as he captured her lips once more, but when the kiss ended, he continued. "We'll have to try and invent something else, I'm afraid."

"It would have to be very sweet," she whispered as a soft yawn emerged.

"Yes it would," he said as he started to get up. "Perhaps all of this would be best taken care of tomorrow. I can tell that you're quite tired, and truthfully, I am as well. I didn't plan for any of this to happen," he said.

"Do you plan everything?" She whispered as she took a wisp of his hair and wound it carefully around her finger.

"Not everything, but I did plan for us to go through the papers," he admitted. "I suppose we will have to tend to them first thing tomorrow. For now, I should probably leave you so that you can get some sleep."

Jeanette sat up abruptly, her face losing its color as she reached for his hand. "Willy, p-please don't leave me alone," she pleaded. She knew that she was alright as long as he was with her. She was fully aware that if she even tried to sleep alone here, that she would not succeed.

"Alright," Willy eventually conceded with a slight nod. "I won't."

He quickly gathered the file's pages together and tossed them on the bedside table. At the same instant that he was clearing off the bed, she crawled away so that they could pull back the covers. She watched as he collected his hat from off the floor and put it in the hat stand. Next, he removed his purple colored coat and tossed it on the sofa.

He came over to the bed at that moment and seated himself on the edge. As he removed his shoes and socks, he turned and looked at her. "I'm afraid I'm ill prepared for lady guests," he said. "I haven't anything for you to sleep in."

Jeanette shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't prepare for this, either," she said shyly. "Maybe you could loan me a set of pajamas?"

Willy smiled, but got to his feet and went over to a large cabinet and opened it. He began to dig through it until he found the requested items. "Would these be to your liking?"

Jeanette nodded and went over to him and accepted the gray silk pajamas that he was offering. "Thank you."

"You can change in the bathroom," he said and pointed. "It's right over there."

She nodded and wordlessly disappeared into the small room. Once the door had closed, Willy pulled back the covers and took a deep breath. He had no idea that this was how everything was going to turn out. He figured that she would come to the factory, spend a night as a guest, but now they were both on the verge of sleeping together in his bed.

The fact that Jeanette was afraid of being alone in the factory added to his awareness that she could not possibly move there to live, at least not yet. The way things stood, he would have to acquaint himself to coming out of seclusion in order to adapt himself to this very strange, but wonderful new relationship.

He took a deep breath and removed his vest and bowtie before starting to unbutton his white shirt. Before he could reach for his pajamas, she emerged, her movements indicative that she was just as nervous as he was. Once she had tossed her clothing on the sofa, she shyly looked at him. "Everything here smells like chocolate," she mused and as if to add emphasis to her words, she pressed the sleeve of her pajama top to her nose and inhaled.

"You'll get used to it," he said as he watched her come over to where he stood. "Make yourself at home, my dear."

She nodded and without thinking twice about what she was doing, she crawled onto the bed and felt herself collapsing against the soft silken covered pillows. As she burrowed herself beneath the covers, a soft, but contented, sigh emerged.

Willy smiled as he watched her practically disappear beneath the sheets. He took this as his chance to retreat to the bathroom in order to change for bed.

Once alone, Jeanette began to take in the room. It was bigger than her entire flat, yet it seemed to emanate the same element of warmth that encased Willy. After taking in everything around her, she waited for him to come out.

When he finally did, she could see that he wore exactly the same style of pajamas as she did, only his were olive green.

He walked around the bed and crawled under the covers on the other side. Before turning off the light, he inched his way over towards her but spoke, his voice filled with his own brand of gentility. "Do you believe that our being together is still not possible?" He asked as he reached over and touched the top of her head.

"I should never have doubted you, Willy," she whispered as she turned over so that she was facing him.

He smiled at her. "If ever you do, then tell me, and I will rectify it in any way I can." She nodded, but no words emerged. Instead, they emerged from him. "What are you thinking about?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm thinking about how lucky I am. I have fallen in love with a man who is the most special, unique, and beautiful person I could ever hope to meet." She paused for a moment, but then continued speaking, her words honest and straightforward. "I don't want anyone to say that I am in love with a dream or someone who is far more special than I am. Does that even make sense to you? I don't think it even makes any sense to me anymore…" Her voice drifted off, and she unconsciously sniffed.

Willy leaned over and covered her lips with one of his fingers. "Shhh!" The simple action emerged as though he was exhaling. After several seconds, he moved his hand away from her lips and spoke. "You mustn't worry yourself about this anymore. It takes two people to discover the level of love that exists between them," he said sincerely. "And I think that you know how much I care for you."

"I'll try, not to worry, I mean," she managed to speak.

Instead of responding to these words, he pulled her even closer, his body now cradled around hers. She buried her face against his chest and breathed in. The gentle fragrance of chocolate engulfed her. There wrapped securely in his arms, she relaxed and eventually drifted off to sleep.

For his part, Willy laid there and stared down at her, his eyes closing slightly as his thoughts drifted. She is indeed a special person, he thought as he cast a final glance at the clock on his bedside table before he too closed his eyes.

For several hours, they slept this way.


	22. Chapter 21: Waking From a Dream

_Welcome to chapter 21. This is the last chapter before the Epilogue. So, this story is about to come to an end. I hope that you have enjoyed it and just as a warning to those of you reading, this chapter implies something more than just kissing (but doesnt't describe it), if you are not even into implied stuff, then skip over the first section and read the second section. I won't take the responsibility for anyone being offended, this story does have a T-rating after all, and I think this is well below that._

_Thanks to all my reviewers and I am really glad that you all like the story so far. I am hopeful that the ending will meet your expectations. Once this one is done, I will probably work on 'In Another's Eyes'. Thanks to YA YA for reading through that one, too. It means a lot to me._

_Oh well, with that said, enjoy and please review._

_Edited April 12, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 21: Waking from a Dream**

"_There is no remedy for love but to love more" – Henry David Thoreau_

When Willy opened his eyes again, he could feel that Jeanette was still asleep and her body was comfortably spooned up against his, her arms still wrapped around him. He raised his head somewhat as he turned to check the time, but then snuggled himself down into the covers. He seemed to be enjoying the feeling of waking up next to another person, as this was a first. His gaze stared down at her and after several minutes, she shifted and moaned softly before opening her eyes.

As she tried to take in where she was, he could tell that she was afraid. Perhaps she had forgotten about the night before. He wrapped a gentle arm around her and pulled her into his embrace, his eyes meeting hers as she tried to focus on where she was. "Good morning, Starshine," he whispered warmly as he leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.

"Willy?" She breathed his name, but felt dizzy as though his kiss had left her intoxicated. "It's morning already?" She whispered.

"Yes, about eight," he said smiling. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a baby," she smiled, but remained snuggled up against him. It was obvious that she was still tired, but like him, she seemed to be quite fond of waking in this fashion as well. "And you?"

Willy smiled, but ran his hand through his, now completely ruffled hair. "Better than I thought was possible."

Jeanette cast a glance at his hair. It was indeed disheveled, but to her, he was the most endearing person she had ever laid eyes on. She reached over and touched his hair, one of the strands she patted into place.

"I guess we should get started with those papers," she said as she started to sit up but looked at him and smiled weakly before sinking back against the pillows as well as into his embrace. "I want five more minutes."

The chocolatier smiled. "Let's take ten." He smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling as he felt her fingers once more playing about with his hair. "Should I do something with my hair?" he asked with a playful smirk. "I know I look like Frankenstein's monster when I wake up, but you seem to be rather fond of that, nonetheless."

"I like your hair, it's soft," she mused, her voice a soft purr. "But, I also think it's pretty." Instead of elaborating further, she continued to run her fingers playfully through his curly locks.

Willy chuckled but rested his head next to her so that she could do as she liked. He felt perfectly content with her gentle touch.

As she continued to play with his hair, he reached over and his hand brushed against the collar of her pajama top, the back of his hand lightly touching the skin around her neck. "You're so beautiful, Jeanette," he whispered as he pressed his lips against her neck and breathed in the sweet scents of lilac soap.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she stopped playing with his hair and pressed her hands against the back of his head. This simple action left his lips against her neck, and it was clear that she now felt like putty in the chocolatier's masterful hands.

"Willy," she whispered his name as she felt his lips still against her neck and his hands now moving carefully, but gently, over her upper back.

Jeanette suddenly felt a deep hunger filling her. She remembered the day that she had admitted to herself that she wanted him body and soul, and now here she was lying on a bed and feeling him lovingly lavish her with kisses. His hands were touching her, and she was not sure how much longer she could take this without bursting from absolute bliss.

She moved her hands out of his hair and as inconspicuously as possible, she began to unbutton the pajama top. She wanted him to love her and she knew beyond reason that Willy Wonka now held her heart in his hands.

He shared a love with her that seemed to span beyond all understanding. It was not just a love of physical attraction, it was a love, pure and genuine. This unbelievable feeling had somehow manifested itself inside of her. His loving presence seemed to remind her that she would never be alone, and that her days would be filled with his constant affection and love. She knew that lying there in his arms, she had found completeness.

By this time, Willy had started to wind his hands through her hair, the softness of it weaving between his fingers. When he suddenly felt her exposed skin pressed up against him, he backed away somewhat and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and passion. "Oh Jeanette," he whispered her name.

She raised her head so that she could gaze into his eyes, her own filled with longing. After several seconds, she spoke, her words making him forget all logic or reason. "Please, don't think ill of me, but I want you," she pleaded as she pressed her body sensually up against his.

Willy took her in his arms and shook his head. "I would never think ill of you, my love, never." His mouth lowered until he had captured her lips in yet another stimulating kiss.

He continued to cover her face and neck with his loving attention and Jeanette's breathing became heavier. As their kisses were becoming more intimate, she released a pent up breath. "Willy," she whispered his name as she soon felt the weight of his body lovingly pressed against her own.

"…'There is no remedy for love but to love more'," he whispered as he continued to overwhelm her with his warm and tender kisses.

Seconds later, he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over their heads, thus shutting out the rest of the world.

* * *

A half an hour later, Willy reached for a robe and pulled it on as he crawled out of bed. His hair was now moist with perspiration, but a contented smile was spread across his face. He reached inside his cabinet and pulled a second before returning to the bed.

As soon as he had handed it to her, he watched as she put it on and crawled out of the cocoon of blankets and pillows.

For a split second, she pondered what it would feel like to wake up each and every morning and have him lying there next to her. She took a deep breath as she went over to him and wound her arms around him from behind. "Willy," she whispered his name. "Maybe I could come and spend the weekends with you."

"Whenever you want, my love," he whispered as he turned around and wrapped her in his arms. "You are always more than welcome here."

"Even if I don't live here?" She whispered.

"Even then," he said with a smile. "I was actually thinking about that last night just before we fell asleep."

"You were?"

"Mm-hum," he nodded.

"What did you conclude?" She asked.

"That what I wanted most in the world is a normal relationship," he said. "I suppose now I have it, I can be happy. You don't have to come here to live, but Jeanette, will you at least let me introduce you to my world, just as you have introduced me to yours?"

She raised her head and looked at him. "Yes," she whispered as she lightly kissed him. "I only hope that you'll be patient with me during that time."

He smiled and nodded. "Of course, but before we do anything else, we should do what we intended last night. It would seem that we have both proven that we can get distracted by all these other things." He released her so that he could go over to the bedside table and pick up the file. Seconds later, he seated himself on the edge of the bed.

Jeanette reluctantly followed his lead and seated herself next to him, her gaze on the stack of papers that he held. This time, she knew instinctively that he would not let her distract him. This would have to be done.

"What is all that stuff anyway?" She eventually asked, all the while trying to keep her voice level.

"This was your father's employment file," he explained. "It has all the information that I was able to obtain about his work here at the factory." He slowly opened it. "If at any point, this gets to be too painful for you, then you just tell me and we'll stop, alright?"

She nodded. "OK."

"I think I should first show you the letter that your father wrote to me. It is, after all, what catalyzed everything," he said. "It may also explain to you what I wanted to say when we were at your flat last night. In truth, I didn't have the letter with me at the time. I probably should have brought it, but the only thing I had on my mind was to see you." He smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. Instead of speaking further, he carefully pulled the envelope from the file, opened it, and removed the contents before handing both pages to her.

"Y-you want me to read this?" She asked hesitantly.

"It's important for you to know what he said to me, Jeanette," he responded. "Go ahead, my dear, nothing will change between us unless you want it to."

She nodded and started to read the letter. By the time she had read through both pages, the tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. "He didn't want me to know what was in this letter, Willy."

"I know, but I felt that you had a right to know because it was more truthful than anything I could possibly have said or shown you," he said. "Your father loved you very much, Jeanette. It was for that reason that he wrote asking me to look in on you. He had no idea how I was going to react to his letter, but I could see the sincerity in his words, and knew of the depth of his concern for you."

"But no matter what he said, he never mentioned whether or not he was capable of working," she whispered. "I didn't even know the truth when he was alive."

"No, most of the truth was kept from you, but it was contained in this file. There are two other people who also knew about his situation," he said.

"Who?"

"Thelma and Milton Jenkins," Willy said. "The day I met and spoke with Thelma, she told me that Gordon had made her and Milton promise not to tell you anything about what had happened. She said that he confessed to being afraid that other people would judge him as weak or of no use. Of course, she also said that I was probably the only person who could objectively tell you the truth."

As he spoke, he handed her the stack of papers and helped her flip through the file until they found the page that was signed by the doctor saying that Gordon was unable to continue working. As in the very first letter he had written to her, the form was dated the day before Willy had fired the workers and closed the factory.

Jeanette read through the words on the page and shook her head. "Why did he do this? I could have finished school, I could have done so many things…"

"…I know," Willy said. "When I got Gordon's letter, I spent the whole night trying to figure out what had happened. I even blamed myself for not having helped or supported you during those years."

"It wasn't your fault," she said as she closed her eyes and felt the tears streaming from beneath the lids. "He lied to me, Willy…he told me that you had fired him, that you had fired them all. I believed him. I thought Papa could do no wrong…but he did."

Willy carefully pulled the file out of her grasp before reaching over and taking her hands gently in his. "Your father was human, Jeanette, he was not perfect. He was not someone who was better or worse than the rest of us. You loved him and you took care of him and that was perhaps the greatest gift that one person can give to another. Yes, I know he lied and put you a dreadful position. It was his mistake, not yours and not mine. His actions were a direct result of his fear."

"Fear?"

"Yes, fear breeds false pride, and that makes people react selfishly. Your father had so much pride in him that he could not imagine taking what he perceived as charity from me," Willy said. "Of course, it wasn't charity, it was a legal arrangement that I was obligated to fulfill. In hindsight, his fear was perhaps why he didn't push the issue with my paying him compensation. Maybe it would have easier for him to believe that I had fired him as opposed to accepting that the doctor had told him that he could not work anymore. Sometimes people do that, even at the risk of harming their own children."

"I gave up everything," she whispered.

"I know you did," he said gently as he touched one side of her face. "Now, you're taking everything back. You did that not only with the class, but also with the work you've done on Cherry Street," he said and smiled at her. "You have so much to feel pride for, your love for your friends, the sacrifices you have made for others, your creativity, and your intelligence." He picked up the letter. "Do you know what this letter truly signifies, Jeanette?"

"Your presence in my life," she managed to speak, all the while looking down at the pieces of paper that held her father's last wishes.

"No, not my presence…yours," he said with a gentle smile. "That letter changed everything for me, yes, because it brought you into my life. Did you ever notice the changes that took place in your life after everything that happened? You started a friendship with people like Dennis and Cathy, and then you started classes. All of this happened because you had the courage to try something new. You embraced your strength when you thought you didn't have any and you acknowledged the hope, which you thought had wilted away. It was your father's very last gift to you. It was a testament of the love and remorse that he carried because he knew deep down inside that what he had done to you had been wrong."

"But he never said it," she objected, the tears still falling.

"Not directly, but in his heart, he always knew. Your father didn't want you to be alone, Jeanette, and he didn't want you to dwell on all the things that you had sacrificed for him during the last years of his life. He knew that they had been vast, his letter to me confirmed that." He folded the pages of the letter together and returned it the envelope. "This was his way of trying to release the guilt he carried." He got to his feet, went over to the sofa and picked up his purple coat. Digging in the pocket, he produced an envelope before returning to her side. "And here is mine."

"Yours?" She whispered.

"I wrote this right after I told you the truth. I had come back to the factory that day feeling rather horribly, but I wanted to write what was in my heart, to apologize for having deceived you." Instead of speaking further, he handed the envelope to her.

Jeanette accepted the beige colored envelope and carefully pulled out the letter. She stared down at the familiar handwriting that graced the page. She began to read the words, but his voice soon interrupted her. "Please, read it aloud."

She nodded, but returned her attention to the words that graced the page:

* * *

_Dearest Jeanette,_

_I write to you today with a great deal of regret. I hurt you and I understand that you are angry and perhaps betrayed by my actions. I never intended to hurt you or make you sad, I only wanted to know the brave woman that Gordon spoke of in his letter._

_I wanted to learn about normal life, of being with someone who would love me for me, and who would not use and justify making me prey to a heartless and cruel media. I had hoped that you would be my teacher and remind me of all the things that fame had robbed me of._

_I am not perfect, I never claimed to be, I am just a man who loves his work. Yet, through you, I have learned another love, a deeper love that embodies everything I have ever dreamt of. You have shared with me during these past weeks what it means to be a normal man in a normal existence. It has blessed and honored me._

_Please, no matter what happens, never forget the gifts that you have held and shared with others. I may be too late, but my dear lady, as much as I know how to love, I do love you. This emotion is not present because I feel guilt for having deceived you, but it is a real and overwhelming admiration and respect that has built since the day we first met._

_All the same, I beg you to please forgive me, I never intended to hurt you and I will do whatever I can to make it up to you._

_You have shown me many things, but the one thing you have honored me with has been your willingness to persevere contrary to all the reasons that have argued against it. I have made many mistakes since the day we first met, but I know that my loving you has never been a mistake, it has always been the most real thing that existed._

_I want you to know that it has been a deep and abiding blessing to feel the love that you so readily shared with me. I am ever so grateful for the trust and kindness that you have bestowed upon me. This has been the greatest gift I could have received._

_All my love,_

_Willy._

* * *

She bit down on her lip, as the words hung in the air. "That's so beautiful," she whispered as she reached for his hands. Once she held them she could feel the tears as they streamed down her face.

"It's all true," he whispered gently. "And now you're going to heal, but before you can do that you, you must mourn that which you have lost.

Jeanette looked up and into the eyes of Willy Wonka. "Maybe, but I should also celebrate everything I've gained." She smiled weakly, the love that she carried for him illuminated in her eyes. "After all, 'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.'"

"Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'," he smiled brightly, but shook his head. "You are amazing."

They sat in silence for several minutes until her soft voice broke it. "Willy?"

"What is it, my love?"

"Thank you," she whispered. "For the letter, and…for everything you've done."

The chocolatier nodded, but pulled her into his arms and held her tightly in his embrace, his soft words now filling her ear. "My dearest lady, it was my pleasure."

As these words filled her, she nodded, but soon felt his lips gently brushing against hers.


	23. Epilogue:  Finding Closure

_Well, here I am, putting another story to bed. I want to thank all the wonderful people who came out and supported the posting of this story. I think that it was a fun story to write and I hope that it remained in the spirit of what 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory' is all about.._

_If you enjoyed reading this, please have a look at my other story. I will be starting a new CatCF story, but I tend to like putting a completed story out before starting a third story. I hope that this story was worth the time and effort of reading, and I look forward to seeing all of you again very soon._

_Take care and thanks again!!_

_Edited April 12, 2008._

* * *

**Epilogue: Finding Closure**

Later that same day, Willy and Jeanette arrived at the Cherry Street shop. They walked in to see that Dennis was hard at work. The young man was hammering nails into some new paneling and seemed so deeply involved in this that he barely noticed that his friends had arrived. "Dennis?" The candy maker called out his name.

Dennis did not immediately respond, instead, he started to hammer in another nail. As he pounded away, his voice emerged, but not as either of them expected. Instead of speaking, Willy and Jeanette could hear that he was singing the lyrics to the song 'Blowing in the Wind'. "How many roads must a man go down before they call him a man?"

Willy released his hold on Jeanette and went over and touched the youth's shoulder. In response to this, the young man gasped and the hammer nearly flew out of his hand. Abruptly, he turned around.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" he demanded. "Don't you know that you shouldn't be sneaking up on people when they are hammering? Someone could have gotten hurt."

"I didn't sneak, Denny, I called your name, you just were too busy singing and pounding nails to pay me any mind," Willy said, a smirk covering his face. "I won't do it again, the last thing I want to do is upset you while you're armed and dangerous."

Dennis chuckled softly, but looked at Jeanette. When he saw that the woman was smiling slightly, his gaze returned to Willy. "So, is everything OK with you guys? Does she…?" His voice trailed off.

"…She knows," Willy said. "Denny, I just wanted to thank you for your help in this matter. If not for you, I'd probably still be trying to figure out what to do."

"It's nothing, Willy," he said. "Don't mention it."

"It is a far cry from being nothing," the chocolatier said. "I thought that perhaps this might help me make everything up to you." He handed a small stack of papers to the young man.

"What is all this?" Dennis asked as he started thumbing through the papers. Eventually, he looked to Willy for the answers he sought.

"This is my gift to you," Willy said. "I know that it seems a bit much, but this is the deed to the shop and the flat upstairs. I want you to take it and turn it into something that will bring other people joy."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," the chocolatier said with an adamant nod of his head. "I know that you have a dream and I want to give this place to you because this is where my dream started. You know how valuable a dream is, but at the same time how fragile it can be as well. Denny, the person who cares for their dream can give it wings to take flight. You have been a true friend to me since the day we met. You have exhumed a wisdom that spans beyond your age and experience. This is an asset to you and it is something that will bring about great things."

"I can't accept this, Willy," he said. "It's nice, but it's just too much."

"Of course you can. Besides, I will be deeply offended if you don't." Willy smiled smugly at the younger man, but continued to speak, his voice firm. "Denny I really want you to have this. Besides, who better to take care of it than someone who appreciates it as you have done?"

The young man looked at Jeanette. "Did you encourage this, Jen?"

She shook her head. "No, Willy is a man of great mystery, and he managed this all by himself." Pausing, she cast a glance around the shop. "If you will have me, I want to help you finish this, and once you decide what it is going to be, I want to work here."

"You got it," Dennis said with a nod, but got to his feet and looked at Willy. "Did you know that you're the best friend I ever had?" He asked all the while feeling the tears catching beneath his eyes.

Willy smiled. "I think I am going to like having 'normal' friends," he said as he pulled Dennis into his arms and hugged him. "You're going to be a wonderful shop keeper, Dennis."

"You're more of a father to me than my own father ever was," he said smiling as the embrace loosened. "So, I guess I really should get back to work now, huh?" He leaned over and picked up the hammer. "What about you guys?"

"Jeanette and I have a few errands to tend to before we return to help you, but we will be back soon," Willy said.

Dennis nodded and returned his attention to his work. "See you guys later."

Several minutes later, Willy and Jeanette stepped outside, the bell chiming over their heads as she turned and looked at him. "You are truly the most extraordinary person I have ever met, Willy."

The chocolatier put his hand on her shoulder. "So are you." Pausing, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, his words laced in mystery. "I think Denny has great potential, but I have always been a great judge of character…except when I've not been, of course."

"You're so silly," Jeanette giggled, but reached for his hand and soon felt his fingers intertwining with hers.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Jeanette and Willy walked through the front gates and into a heavily shaded cemetery. After winding through the paths, they eventually found the gravesite of Gordon Waters. As they approached it, Willy removed his hat while Jeanette sat down on the ground in front of her father's grave. Standing behind her, the chocolatier, held his hat in one hand, but the other rested gently on her shoulder.

"Papa, can you hear me?" She whispered as she closed her eyes. "I know the truth now; all of it. I wanted to thank you for letting me find out in this way. I know it wasn't what you intended, but it helped me in knowing that you cared enough about me to let me find happiness in the wake of your passing."

She swallowed before she could find the courage to continue speaking. "I'm not alone anymore, Papa, I have friends and I have Willy here with me and he's promised that he will help me through whatever processes in healing that I have to go through. He's been a wonderful friend, and he has taught me so much about courage and wisdom."

"It wasn't me," Willy said, "it was you all along, my dear."

Jeanette stared for several minutes down at the headstone and swallowed. "Papa, I know that you didn't want to stop working, and I know what the doctor said. I realize that what I did after you lost your job was not necessary. I also forgive you for withholding this information from me. I have, during the past few days come to realize that when I quit school, it was my choice and although I do regret having made that choice, there is no one who deserves to carry the burden of blame, except me. I blamed Willy, I blamed you, but the truth is, the choice was always mine to make. So I release you both from the responsibility of my decisions."

Willy's hold on her shoulder tightened somewhat, but instead of acknowledging that, she continued speaking. "I am going home now, but my home is truly in the arms of this wonderful man who holds the key to my heart. I know that he loves me as much as I love him, and I know that you wanted me to be surrounded by loving friends, and now I am. I found a family with them, Papa, and they are all good people."

She started to get to her feet, but reached for Willy's hand and allowed him to help her stand up. "Good-bye Papa, until we meet again." She backed away from the grave and smiled weakly as she looked at Willy. "You know, I think I'm really ready to stop crying now."

The chocolatier smiled and nodded but enfolded her in his arms. "In time, you will. 'There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.' Carl Jung said that."

"It's beautiful," she wound her arm around him and buried her face against him.

He returned the hat to his head, but leaned over and placed a gentle kiss against her hair. As she felt this, she remained wrapped in his arms and they stood for some time simply holding tightly to one another.

Eventually, Jeanette raised her head and looked at him. "Willy, thank you for coming with me today. I don't know how I would have handled this without you."

As the embrace loosened, the chocolatier smiled and nodded. He then offered his arm and once she had taken it, they walked towards the cemetery's exit. As they reached the gate, he raised his head and could see the smokestacks of his factory in the distance. "Jeanette?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think that tomorrow we can go to my father's grave?" He asked. "Maybe my doing what you just did will help me as well."

"I'll go anywhere with you, Willy," she said. "I think you know that, though."

"Would you come and live with me at the factory?" He asked, his blue eyes twinkling. He knew what her answer was going to be, but he could not help raising this question one more time.

She looked at him and smiled, but slowly shook her head. "You know I can't do that yet, but I will visit you every single day. I also might just have to write you some love letters and drop them in your mailbox. In all of this, I have come to realize that I have to keep living my life. I can promise you that the way it has been going, I am happier than I have ever been before. Maybe one day, I will actually find the courage to come and live in your magical world beyond the iron gate. Until that day comes, would you wait for me?"

Willy smiled and nodded. "For as long as it takes. After all, the best things in the world are those worth waiting for."

Jeanette smiled as she hugged him. As their embrace loosened, she inhaled the crisp London air. "How would you like to come to dinner tonight? I'm making filet mignon."

"That's my favorite," he smiled.

"I know, I remember you telling me that. It was when you told me about your birthday," she looked up at him. "That's why I'm making it, just for you."

Willy smiled as he continued to contemplate returning to Jeanette's little flat and spending a quiet evening with her. This was suddenly the most appealing idea in the world. "Will Thelma and Milton be coming too?" He asked.

"If you want them there, then yes," she said. "We can stop by their place and invite them. I'm sure they would love it."

"I think I would too," he said. "I must admit that I am quickly growing accustomed to things being 'normal'."

"But not too normal," she said as she touched the velvety smoothness of his purple coat. "I rather like the fact that you're kind of different and have your own unique style."

He tipped his hat to her and smiled as he dug in his pocket and with flourish, he handed her a candy bar. "As you wish, my love," he said with a smile.

Jeanette looked down at the bar of chocolate that now rested in her hand. This time, instead of it being the first candy bar that he had ever tried, it was one of his, a regular Wonka bar. "Did you know this is my favorite candy?" She asked him.

"No," he said smiling.

"It is, I always savored it whenever I could buy one," she said.

"I must tell you that there is no Golden Ticket inside this candy bar, though," he said with teasing undertones in his voice. "Are you disappointed?"

"Not at all," she said, a coy smile now gracing her lips. "I think I went and found something even more valuable than that." She looked into the depths of the chocolatier's blue eyes. "Or should I say, someone?"

The End


End file.
